The Book of Toby
by squintessential
Summary: It's 2743 AD in a high-tech world governed by medieval physics. A demon gets a second chance when she receives a human body and soul. But will she use the opportunity before the Church hunts her down? OT characters Enoch & Elijah make a cameo appearance.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: See the bottom of the page for footnotes, which are indicated in the text by asterisks (*).

Chapter 1

Half a mile from the missionary church, Father Phil stopped at a crossroads and took a sword from under his cassock. Struggling to steady his trembling hand, he began to trace a circle in the dirt.

He had to work quickly, before anyone saw him. He hadn't discussed his plan to summon a demon with anyone, but he suspected that the Pope would disapprove.

At last the circle was complete, along with the symbols shown in the dread _Liber Secretorum Salomonis_.* The priest stepped into the circle and spoke the forbidden words.

At last he turned to the native tied up beside him and slashed her throat, gulping down the steaming blood as it pumped from her arteries. According to the book, this last step was not strictly necessary, but it contributed to the atmosphere.

"Hey! I'm down here," said a voice.

Father Phil cast his gaze downward.

"Farther."

Lowering his eyes farther, the priest saw a tiny kitten gazing up at him. Jet black except for two large, unjustifiably cute eyes, the kitten squatted at the edge of the circle.

"You summoned me?" said the demon.

"Um, yes, I suppose so," said the priest.

"Something seems to be troubling you."

"Well, no offense, but I always pictured demons being, you know, more demonic."

"My apologies," the demon said testily. "Most humans find this form reassuring. If you want, I can appear as a twelve-story-tall winged skeleton with eyes that shoot fireballs."

"Never mind," Father Phil said quickly, rummaging in his blood-drenched cassock. "Anyway, I summoned you because—"

"Yes, yes," the demon said, waving his paw adorably. "We know what you want. But are you ready to give us what we want?"

His soul.

Father Phil stood in momentary silence as images of unquenchable fire flashed before his mind. Then he remembered the object of his desire, and all thought of Judgment dropped away.

"I'll do it," the priest said hoarsely. "But not yet. I want to see it. I won't trust you until I have proof."

The demon looked hurt, but he vanished in a streak of light and a blast of rushing air, reappearing moments later with a steaming platter in his front paws.

"Thank God," Father Phil breathed, resisting the urge to lunge outside the circle. "You have no idea how impossible it is to get a decent toaster pastry out here."

"Then sign the contact," said the demon, "and you will have all the toaster pastries you desire. But know that your soul will be ours when your body dies."

"On the other hand, my body should last a lot longer will all those preservatives in it, huh?" the priest said, taking out a pen.

"I'm not sure it works that way," said the demon.

"STOP!" cried a shrill voice.

Father Phil slowly turned to see four men standing behind him, clothed in the white habits of the Michaeline Order.**

The missionary glanced at the magic circle, the demon, and the sacrificed native, then back at the Michaelines. "Uh, this isn't what it looks like."

"You call yourself a priest," said Abbot Edwin, "yet you have commerce with demons and spill the blood of the innocent!"

"They … never said I couldn't do that."

Father Phil had heard much about Abbot Edwin and his new Order. The Pope tolerated the Michaelines out of necessity, but had always felt that they were a bit excessively pro-Catholic. Many worried that Abbot Edwin's religious zeal was unhealthy. However, the tiny psychiatrist inside the Abbot's big toe told him otherwise, and he preferred to trust the experts.

As the monks advanced, the priest stepped backward, over the circle—and into the arms of the demon, who no longer resembled a kitten.

"You will not thwart us, Edwin!" the demon shrieked. "This priest's soul is ours!"

Snarling, the demon hurled Father Phil to the ground and turned to the monks. Cords of midnight shot from the demon's body and entwined themselves around the Abbot.

Abbot Edwin gritted his teeth. Things were not going according to plan. On a positive note, this meant that he was on familiar ground.

"Tell me your name, unclean spirit!" he cried, as the demon lifted him into the air.

"Saraqujal," the demon hissed through one of his beak-like mouths.

"Well then, Saraqujal, I command you in the Name of Jesus Christ—leave this sinner to us!"

The demon let out a shriek. The Abbot fell to the ground as the demon's body began to thin and fade like smoke.

"Brother Eligius!" cried Abbot Edwin. "The Device!"

One of the other monks leapt forward. The demon snapped back into focus—but no longer as the writhing monstrosity that had menaced them. A dazed and naked female figure now lay at the crossroads.

The Abbot glowered at the girl, who yelped in fright and desperately tried to drag herself away from the monks. "Is this another one of your strategies, demon?" he snarled.

"What, you mean screaming and crawling away?" said Brother Eligius.

Brother Juniper gasped. "She's using our own strategies against us! You're right, Father; we _do_ have a spy in the Abbey!"

"Shut up, Juniper," the Abbot snapped, turning to Brother Eligius. "Don't you see? The demon has taken the form of a woman. She was trying to distract you, no doubt. Just look at her shameless nakedness," he said to Brother Eligius, who had apparently anticipated the order and was diligently obeying it.

After handcuffing Father Phil, Brother Eligius pointed a formal receptor at the trembling demon. "It looks like the Device has condensed the demon's body."

Abbot Edwin grabbed the demon by the wrist. "The Lord seems to have given us a rare opportunity here. Brother Eligius, get the dungeon ready after Vespers."*** The Abbot grinned excitedly. "We're finally going to have our first interrogation!"

* * *

><p>* In Latin, this means <em>The Book of Solomon's Secrets<em>. In ancient and medieval Jewish, Christian, and Muslim tradition, the biblical king Solomon was known as a magician and controller of demons. (According to Jewish legend, he used demons to build the Jerusalem Temple.) During the late Middle Ages and Renaissance, a number of magic how-to books, some attributed to Solomon, circulated in the West.

** The Order of Saint Michael is a fictitious Catholic religious order based on the military orders of the Middle Ages. The military orders were groups of knights that imitated monks by taking religious vows. Examples include the Knights Templar and the Hospitallers, who were involved in the Crusades. The Michaelines in my story, despite being a military group, are going to be a bit more like ordinary monks than the military orders really were.

*** Vespers is one of the "offices" in the Liturgy of the Hours, a cycle of daily prayer practiced by Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, and Anglican monks, nuns, and clergy. (Except that, in this story, there are no Anglicans, because the Protestant Reformation never happened. More on that later.)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Down in the Abbey's engine room, Brother Tobias whistled as he examined some pneumatic conduits.

The pneumatic conduits were among the Abbey's most vital components: they contained the artificial spirits* that transmitted signals throughout the Abbey. What a pity it would be if one of those conduits should accidentally be damaged…

Brother Tobias had a history of "accidents" while performing his duties aboard the Abbey. Once it consisted of "accidentally" leaving a conduit unconnected while repairing vital machinery. Another time, it consisted of "accidentally" downloading viruses into the Abbey's main computer. Yet another time, it consisted of "accidentally" hitting the Abbey's power core with a sledgehammer until it burst into flames. (He had almost been expelled from the Order over the second of those incidents.)

It hadn't been easy infiltrating the Abbey. Despite the Order's rapidly deteriorating admission standards, Tobias hadn't made it past the opening interview when had he first tried applying.

He could still remember that interview.

"Do you attend Mass regularly, Mr. Vinn?" the Abbot had asked.

"Oh, definitely—Christmas; Easter sometimes."

"I see. Ahem. Do you read the Bible?"

"Hmmm, let's see. … I flipped through the Song of Songs once because I friend told me it had some hot scenes in it."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Vinn, but I don't think you show a sufficient devotion to Catholic values."

"Abbot Edwin, you don't understand! I really want to become a monk! Look, I do qualify, okay? I'm not married."

"Then I assume you're abstinent."

"Er …

"Hey, wait!" Tobias had exclaimed, as the Abbot pushed him toward the door. "I don't use birth control!"

It had taken ten months and several thousand dollars in plastic surgery, but he had finally made it into the Order. Now his true brethren were on their way. And once their Master had regained dominion over the earth, he would remember his promises to his servants. Oh, yes. So he had sworn.

Whistling, Brother Tobias gave the ammunition belt a final wipe before heading toward the chapel for Vespers.

* * *

><p>Dull red firelight played over the Abbot's features as he stepped into the Abbey's dungeon. Clothed in a frayed monk's robe, the demon hung at the opposite end of the chamber, her wrists shackled to the wall with iron hoops. Torch-crackle was the only sound in the chamber besides the slow spatter of water droplets on the uneven floor. Around the chamber stood various devices designed for piercing and twisting flesh.<p>

This was all for the sake of atmosphere, of course. Scientists had long ago developed pyrogenic lamps that removed the need for torches. Motion-sensitive impetus projectors had replaced shackles in most modern dungeons. And the torture devices currently on the market tended to be much more humane.

"I thought you said the demon had tentacles," said Brother Albert, the Dominican theologian sent by the Holy See to oversee the investigation.

Brother Albert shifted uneasily under the Michaelines' gaze. It had been like this when he first attended the seminary, and it was like this every time he entered a new social setting. Just because he had the head of a dog, people stared at him as if he were a freak of nature! Actually, no, he was just as human as the next man, and if his tendency to hump people's legs bothered others, that just went to show how narrow-minded they were.**

"It used to," Abbot Edwin replied. "But it attempted to seduce Brother Eligius by taking the form of a woman at the last moment."

"The attempt failed, I hope?"

"Of course! Brother Eligius would kill before committing a sin."

"Of course," said Brother Albert. "But how do you stop the demon from vanishing into thin air?"

The Abbot pointed to the small metallic object affixed to the demon's arm. "We call it the Device."

"That's the technical term, I take it?" the Dominican said sardonically.

"No, the technical term is Thingamajig. We've been working on it for years now. It's designed to condense a demon's subtle body, preventing the demon's escape."

"Demons don't have bodies," said Brother Albert. "Haven't you read Saint Thomas Aquinas?"

"Ah, yes, Saint Thomas Aquinas," the Abbot muttered, in the tone of one who regarded Saint Thomas Aquinas as a godless secular humanist. "Well, whatever Saint Thomas said, the Device seems to have worked." The Abbot pointed a spray bottle at the demon. "Now, if you're finished with your questions, I'd like to get on with my own."

The Dominican yipped in fright and leapt back from the Abbot, shrinking into a corner.

The Abbot stared after him. "Is there something wrong?"

"I think he's afraid of the spray bottle," said Brother Eligius.

"I am _not_!" Brother Albert sniffed, brushing off his habit*** and stepping out of the corner. "I was just startled, that's all."

"Wait!" the demon cried, eyeing the bottle with terror. "Why are you doing this?"

"If you refuse to give us information," the Abbot replied, "we'll be forced to use any means necessary to obtain it."

"But I haven't refused to give you information!"

"You're going to answer our questions freely?" the Abbot asked, looking somewhat disappointed. "All right. Then answer me this: when is the Antichrist is coming?"

"I don't know that," the demon replied. "I'm not sure if the Hierarchy has even made a decision about it yet."

"Liar!" the Abbot shrieked. "Do you think I haven't seen how bold your kind has become? In the past year, there have been two hundred cases of possession in this city alone. Rumors come from the East that the Saracens**** are raising an army to overrun Christendom. And every year, more men and women see visions and dream strange dreams. There have been signs in the sky above and wonders on the earth below. And you mean to tell me that the Day of the Lord isn't at hand?"

The Abbot's finger tightened on the spray bottle's trigger. "Tell me."

"I don't know!"

The demon screamed as holy water showered her face. Adjusting the nozzle from "mist" to "jet", the Abbot spoke again. "When is the Antichrist coming?"

"Please!" said the demon. "I swear I don't—"

Another scream echoed through the dungeon.

Brother Albert stepped forward. "Um, Father, I really think she doesn't know."

"There can be no mercy toward the servants of darkness," Abbot Edwin replied grimly. "When the serpent tempted our first parents to sin, didn't the Lord condemn it to crawl on its belly and eat dirt in payment for its crime? When Jonah defied the Lord's command, didn't the Lord send a great fish to swallow him until he repented? And didn't God turn Lot's wife into a pillar of salt for daring even to cast her eyes back upon her wicked city?"

"Um, and didn't our Lord say, 'Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, and do good to them that hate you'?"

"Brother Albert," the Abbot chuckled, "as a theologian, you of all people should know that not everything in the Bible is meant to be taken literally."

The Dominican's reply was cut short as the sound of the Abbey's alarm siren filled the dungeon.

* * *

><p>* According to medieval biology, living organisms are filled with subtle, air-like materials called "spirits" (Greek <em>pneuma<em>, Latin _spiritus_), which carry signals through the nerves and are the primary instrument by which the soul controls the body. (These "spirits" should not be confused with immaterial beings, which are also called "spirits".)

** Brother Albert is a Cynocephalus, a member of a mythical dog-headed people described by ancient Greek writers and believed in by medieval Christians.

*** A habit is a special outfit worn by a member of a religious order. Each order has its own habit.

**** "Saracens" is a medieval Christian term for Muslims.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Hey, Brother Sebastian, can you let me know when you're done with that computer terminal? I need to check my email account."

Glancing over his shoulder, Brother Sebastian saw Brother Juniper standing behind him.

"You get email?" asked Brother Sebastian.

"No," said Brother Juniper. "Why?"

"O—_kay_," Brother Sebastian said slowly, turning away from the terminal. "Well, I'm done running the diagnostic. Alright, jump on it." He paused. "No, wait—"

Brother Sebastian winced as he heard a crunch behind him.

"Okay. Now what?" Brother Juniper asked.

The wail of a siren jerked Brother Sebastian's attention from the smashed circuitry under Brother Juniper's feet.

"Uh, Brother Sebastian, now the computer isn't letting me go on the Internet."

"That's because you destroyed it, Juniper."

Brother Juniper's jaw dropped. "I destroyed the Internet?"

"Oh no," Brother Sebastian moaned, as he heard approaching footsteps from down the hallway.

"What happened here?" Abbot Edwin demanded, skidding to a halt in front of the broken terminal.

"It's my fault, Father," Brother Sebastian said quickly, before Brother Juniper could speak. "I, uh, spilled coffee on it."

"What?" said the Abbot. He shook his head. "Never mind. We've got to get to the control room. We're under attack!"

"Why didn't we see them coming?" the Abbot demanded, turning to the monk who was running beside him.

"There was a malfunction in our receptor system," Brother Christopher replied.

"That's impossible. Brother Juniper isn't allowed anywhere near the receptor system."

"We don't think it was Brother Juniper. It looks like a deliberate sabotage."

Abbot Edwin's fists tightened. "Who was working on receptor maintenance this week?" he demanded.

"Brother Tobias."

"Dammit! That's the seventh time this year. How many times is that idiot going to let the saboteur slip by?"

The monks stumbled into the control room as another, sharper tremor shook the Abbey. Through the front viewport, they could see fighter craft swarming around the Abbey like flies. The walls rattled as ignium charges exploded against the Abbey in bursts of white fire.

"They're all too small!" Brother Martin shouted from the weapons control station. "I can't hit them!"

"They've punctured our pneumatic conduits," Brother Sebastian reported. "Transmission speed down to 80 percent and falling."

"Wait a minute!" Brother Eligius exclaimed, hurrying toward a control panel near the back of the room. "I've been working on something that could help us."

As Brother Eligius hurried past, the Abbot grabbed him by the back of his habit.

"Hold on, Brother Eligius. We all know how much you enjoy testing out your inventions. But have you designed anything that hasn't exploded?"

"Sure he has," said Brother Christopher. "Remember that bomb?"

"We just lost a fire chamber!" Brother Sebastian shouted, as the Abbey lurched sickeningly. "Compensating."

In the back of the room, Brother Albert began whimpering faintly. Brother Sebastian scratched him behind the ears, murmuring a quiet prayer.

Beads of sweat shone on the Abbot's brow. "Fine, Brother Eligius. What is this invention of yours?"

Over the next five minutes, Brothers Sebastian and Christopher desperately held the Abbey together from the control room as the other monks loaded Brother Eligius's new weapon, the Malleus IV, into the Abbey's missile tubes.

"You said these things have a homing feature?" the Abbot asked, as the missiles flew out of the Abbey's weapon ports.

"Yes," said Brother Eligius. "In fact, they're strategically designed to home in on the biggest airship first."

"Wait," said Brother Sebastian. "What?"

"I said, they're strategically designed to home in on the biggest—oh crap."

The monks could only watch numbly as the missiles splayed out from their paths, turning until they pointed at the Abbey.

(It should be noted that, despite its design flaw, the Malleus IV was a considerable improvement over the Malleus III, which, when launched from an airship's weapon port, immediately homed in on the nearest airship; the Malleus II, which simply exploded in the vicinity of airships, whether or not it had been launched yet; and the Malleus I, which, when released, flew to its owner's hometown and held his family hostage until he agreed to his enemy's demands.)

Suddenly the fierce blue glow of a hylomorphic disruptor beam filled the Abbey's viewscreen, reducing the missiles to dust, along with the enemy fighters that it touched. As the glow faded, a new airship swooped into view.

"Hey, big brother," said a voice over the Abbey's radio. "Looks like you could use some help over there."

"I've got everything perfectly under control, Juliana," the Abbot snapped. "Shouldn't you be chanting Compline* right about now?"

"The Sisters of Divine Wrath are sworn to aid the helpless, Edwin. You know that."

"As I told you, Juliana, I have everything under—"

"Well, that's the last of them," said a second voice over the radio.

"Good shooting, as always, Sister Barbara," said Abbess Juliana. "It looks like our work here is done. No need to thank us, Edwin."

Abbot Edwin glowered at the viewscreen as the airship _Judith's Blade_ turned and sped away.

"Um, what happened?" asked Brother Albert.

"I don't want to talk about it!" the Abbot snapped, turning to the control room's door. "Let's go."

* * *

><p><em>Psst! Hey you!<em>

The soundless speech cut through the mist of pain and weariness like an icy dagger. Bound to the wall, Saraqujal raised her tear-streaked face.

_It's Lord Asmodeus,_ said the voice that came from all directions and none._ By now, you have officially—and miserably, I might add—failed your mission. We would have dragged you back to Hell, but we seem to be having some difficulty in that regard. Can you leave that body on your own?_

_Not since they put this thing onto me,_ Saraqujal said, glancing at the Device affixed to her arm.

There was a brief silence.

_You don't appear to be lying. Bless it, this is just what I need right now!_ Asmodeus sighed. _Just a moment._

Saraqujal suddenly felt something hard collide with the side of her head.

"Ow!" she exclaimed. _What was that for?_

_You didn't notice it coming?_

_No._

_That's strange,_ said Asmodeus. _Tell me, do you need to breathe?_

_I'm not sure,_ said Saraqujal, who realized for the first time that the chest of her false body had been rising and falling without her even willing it.

_Well, there's only one way to find out,_ Asmodeus said, materializing in front of her.

_What are you doing?_ Saraqujal exclaimed.

_Choking you,_ Asmodeus replied. _I would have thought that it was rather self-evident. Stop clawing at my hands, would you? You're messing up the experiment._

_And you're sure you can't leave that body?_ Asmodeus asked, finally removing his hands from her throat.

_Yes, I'm sure. Ever since they put that thing—_

The archdemon reached out and tore the Device from her arm. She yelped in pain.

_Tears,_ Asmodeus said, peering at her face. _Interesting. Anyway, how about now? Can you leave your body?_

The demon squeezed her eyes shut. Her face turned red. Sweat trickled down her brow.

_It … isn't … working,_ she said, gritting her teeth.

_Oh, stop,_ said Asmodeus. _You look constipated._ He leaned toward her. _Do you know what this means?_

_No._

_Crap. Neither do I._

Footsteps echoed down the hallway outside the dungeon. Asmodeus slapped the Device back onto the demon's arm.

_You will not tell them anything,_ he said. _If you think being sprayed with holy water is bad, perhaps you forget what _we_ can do. For every secret you reveal to them, your punishment will become ten times as great._

_No!_ she screamed. _Please!_

But Asmodeus had vanished, leaving only swirling darkness that settled back into place just as the dungeon door opened again.

* * *

><p>Brother Tobias entered the dungeon quietly, holding a spray bottle.<p>

"Please, no more!" Saraqujal cried. "I swear, I don't—"

Brother Tobias threw back his hood. "It's me. I brought what you wanted."

Hurrying over to the wall where she was chained, he picked up the old spray bottle, hiding it beneath his habit, then took out a new one.

"The water in this bottle hasn't been blessed," the Luciferan whispered. "You'll have to pretend it hurts, though, or they'll realize something's wrong."

Brother Tobias froze as footsteps sounded down the hallway.

"They're coming!" said Saraqujal.

"What should I do?" asked Brother Tobias.

"I don't know! Pretend you're interrogating me or something!"

"Uh, okay."

Shrugging, Brother Tobias pointed the spray bottle at the demon.

"Where were you on the night of the forty-fifth of September?" he demanded as Abbot Edwin and Brother Albert stepped into the dungeon.

The demon blinked. "Um, there is no forty-fifth of September."

Brother Tobias snorted. "A likely story."

He pulled the trigger, covering the demon's face with water.

"Gaaaa! My face!" she shrieked, thrashing. "Please, I don't know anything!"

"Well," Brother Tobias said coldly, "at least we have one thing in common."

"Brother Tobias, what are you doing?" Abbot Edwin snapped, grabbing the spray bottle. "I didn't tell you to perform an interrogation!"

Shaking his head, the Abbot turned to Saraqujal.

"Now, where were we?" he muttered. "Ah, yes. …"

* * *

><p>* Compline is one of the offices of the Liturgy of the Hours.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The sleek metallic form of the _Malleus_ sped across the night sky over San Francisco, flanked by two SFPD airships. When its engines weren't on fire, the _Malleus_ was the most feared member of the Abbey's two-ship squadron.

"Wow, the streets are crowded tonight," Brother Juniper remarked, staring at the city below.

"Of course they're crowded," said Brother Martin. "Everywhere is crowded at Christmas-time."

"Oh." Brother Juniper considered this briefly. "No wonder Mary and Joseph couldn't find room at the inn."

"We're nearing the coordinates," said Brother Martin. "The target is … that building over there!"

* * *

><p>Shivering, Ana Thema rubbed her hands together inside her hoodie as she headed toward midnight Mass.<p>

Her Christian name was Ana, but she had reversed the letters after becoming a Luciferan.* She was a bit of an anomaly within her congregation. At her age, most Luciferans tended to drift away from the faith. Those who remained thought they could pick and choose which of Satan's teachings they were going to follow. Usually they just focused on the warm and fuzzy stuff, ignoring the parts that might force them to make difficult choices.

But that would change, Ana knew, once she managed to reform the rigid, outdated edifice of Luciferan doctrine. Like a growing number of Luciferans, Ana knew that the real Satan wasn't the cruel, punishing figure that traditional Luciferan teaching made him out to be. The real Satan was a force of love, tolerance, and social justice—which was the obviously the true message of Scripture, once you got past all the anthropomorphic imagery.

At last Ana reached her destination, a small Croatian restaurant at the corner of 5th and Augustine. She knocked and waited.

"Password?" said a voice from behind the door.

Ana glanced to her left and right, then over her shoulder. Satisfied that the coast was clear, she turned back to the door and whispered, "Open up; it's the police."

The door opened. Ana scampered gratefully into the restaurant's warm darkness, then down the stairs leading to the basement.

In the center of the basement stood an altar of black obsidian. This was the altar where the congregation worshipped their masters. To invoke the blessings of Hell over an entire congregation was no small task. Usually the gift of a soul was required.

"This is so exciting!" exclaimed a new convert who was standing beside the altar. "I've never seen a virgin sacrifice before."

"Virgin sacrifice?" said a person next to him. "What are you talking about?"

"You know; it's when you sacrifice … virgins. You can sort of tell if you sound it out."

"I know what a virgin sacrifice is," the Luciferan snapped. "But we sacrifice unbaptized infants around here."

"Wait. You aren't sacrificing virgins?"

"Well, I certainly _hope_ we are. However, the virgins that you have in mind are somewhat older, right?"

"But babies?" the convert stammered. "That's so … _evil_."

The Luciferan gazed at the convert through half-closed eyelids. "Yes, unfortunately we must sometimes do evil in the battle against good."

Up above the basement, a loud knock roused the doorkeeper from his daydreams.

"Password?" he muttered.

"Open up!" shouted a voice. "It's the police!"

"Not so loud, guys!" the doorkeeper hissed, sticking his head out through the door. "The cops might hear."

Minutes later, the door to the restaurant's basement exploded in fragments under a policeman's boot. Metal canisters clattered onto the floor of the underground chapel, vomiting a thick gray haze.

"Incense!" a Luciferan coughed. "It's the Michaelines!"

* * *

><p>"What's going on?" Brother Sebastian shouted, standing with Brothers Christopher, Eligius, and Albert around the Abbey's radio. "Is the situation under control?"<p>

"Not yet. There are more of them than we expected," Brother Martin replied. "Brother Juniper's been shot. Fortunately, it was just in the shoulder."

"Hi, Brother Sebastian!" Brother Juniper called through the radio.

Brother Sebastian groaned. "Why does the Abbot always include Brother Juniper in combat operations? All he does is get shot."

In the background, Abbot Edwin's voice rang out over the din: "Forward, brothers, forward! As our Lord Jesus Christ said, 'Kill them all.'"

"I'm pretty sure Christ didn't say that," said Brother Albert.

"I'm paraphrasing," the Abbot snapped.

Suddenly Brother Martin spoke again, and there was fear in his voice. "They've got us surrounded. Brother Tobias's turned on us! He's—"

Brother Martin's voice fell silent as the unmistakable roar of a hylomorphic disruptor drowned out all other sounds coming from the radio.

"Brother Martin!" Brother Sebastian shouted. "Brother Martin, are you there?"

"We have to do something!" said Brother Christopher.

"What can we do?" asked Brother Sebastian. "Someone has to stay here and guard the Abbey."

"Wait," Brother Eligius said, pointing at a large dial on a nearby control panel. "What about the hylic transmission system I've been working on? We could try that." He turned to the radio. "Father! Brother Martin! Do you copy?"

"Yes," crackled the Abbot's voice. "What is it, Brother Eligius?"

"I'm going to try to use the HT prototype to get you out of there!"

"You know I don't like that idea, Brother Eligius. Even if that thing can put my body back together the right way, how do I know that it'll still be _my_ soul inside it?"

Brother Eligius sighed. "Hylic transmission is perfectly safe for human transport. There's been decades of theological speculation to prove that."

"Are you sure you understand how this thing works?" Brother Martin demanded.

"Of course. It operates on the same basic principles as a lot of my other inventions."

"That isn't particularly reassuring."

Brother Albert cleared his throat. "Um, I can't help noticing that this particular HT system doesn't appear to be designed for human transport. I see a setting for 'quidditative resolution' and a setting for 'accidental resolution', but there's no setting for 'haecceitative resolution'."**

"Yes there is," Brother Eligius replied, hurrying over to the dial.

"Hey! You just drew on a new setting with a marker!"

"Just let me try," said Brother Eligius. "What do we have to lose at this point? They'll get killed if we don't do anything."

Brother Sebastian sighed. "Fine. Go ahead, Brother Eligius."

Grinning, Brother Eligius turned back to the control panel and began pressing buttons.

"Are you done yet?" called Brother Sebastian.

"Almost!" replied Brother Eligius. "Just trying to figure out how to enter the coordinates. Wow, this is the worst user interface ever."

Finally he stepped back. "There, I think that's right."

* * *

><p>Brother Martin opened his eyes slowly, wincing as light assaulted his throbbing eyeballs.<p>

_Warning,_ said an automated voice. _Tracking failure on Subject 3. Radical moisture lost._

Brother Martin's limbs ached, there was a migraine-like pain in his forehead, and he had to fight against the nausea rising in his gut—which meant that he was still alive!

"Thank God," he sighed, glancing around. Nearby, Abbot Edwin was struggling to rise from a similarly prostrate position.

"Hey guys!" Brother Juniper said, leaping up and hugging Brother Christopher. He glanced at Brother Tobias. "Are you okay, Toby?"

Brother Tobias lay on the floor without responding. He looked up quizzically as Abbot Edwin pressed the barrel of a hylomorphic disruptor against his head.

"Get up," said the Abbot.

Brother Tobias responded by drooling on the floor.

"I said, 'Get up'!" the Abbot shouted, switching the disruptor on. A blue light shone from its tip as it hummed to readiness.

Brother Tobias grabbed lazily at the disruptor's glowing barrel and made a gurgling noise.

"Awww! He sounds like a baby," said Brother Juniper.

Abbot Edwin turned slowly to Brother Eligius.

"Brother Eligius, what happened to Brother Tobias?"

* * *

><p>Far beneath the streets of San Francisco lay a great cavern. It stretched for leagues in every direction, filled with a swirling sea of flames. Within it a hundred, a thousand, a billion human souls all screamed together in a chorus of inhuman pain, the chorus of the damned. At the center of the cavern there yawned a great rift, leading farther down into the Abyss.<p>

This wasn't like the fire above ground, the fire that burned on earth and circulated in the sky above the sphere of air.** A body, if placed into that sea of flame, would burn with an agony beyond anything known to mortal flesh. Yet the blinding flames illuminated nothing, leaping sharp and harsh against the eternal night beyond—the land of gloom and the shadow of death, without any order, whose fire shone shadows as other fires shine light.

_Well,_ thought Tobias, _this was a miscalculation._

On the plus side, he supposed, things couldn't really get any worse.

_Hello,_ said Satan.

* * *

><p>* Not to be confused with modern Satanists, the Luciferans were a Christian heresy that existed during the late Middle Ages. They apparently believed that Lucifer had been unjustly expelled from heaven. I have taken some … liberties with my portrayal of Luciferan practices.<p>

** The worldview of Aristotle was widely accepted, with modifications, in the later Middle Ages. According to Aristotle, there is a layer of "fire" beyond the atmosphere. This is not flame but, rather, pure elemental fire, a transparent, highly flammable material that exists in every earthly substance in at least trace amounts.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Dawn broke. But it was quickly reassembled before anyone noticed.

The roar of fire chambers filled the sky over San Francisco as airships converged on the Apostolic Palace.* It had been twenty-five years since Pope Rural II had fled the Italian peninsula after accidentally wearing the wrong colors at a soccer game and San Francisco, the bastion of Western Christianity, had offered him refuge. Yet this emergency synod** had drawn a delegation even from the schismatic Italian bishops.

"Okay, everyone, settle down," Pope Rural II said wearily, seated before a hastily-summoned gathering of clergy and theologians. "Abbot Edwin, would you please explain what's going on here?"

"Thank you, Your Holiness," the Abbot replied, stepping up to the front of the room and turning toward the assembly. "Today the world currently faces a serious threat—perhaps the greatest it has ever known. Make no mistake, honored men of the Church—the Antichrist is currently alive on earth!"

A collective groan rose from the assembly.

"You called us here for _this_?" a cardinal grumbled. "Another one of Abbot Edwin's insane theories?"

"Hey," whispered one another delegate, "isn't Abbot Edwin the one who said that the Northern American Cattlemen's Association is a Jewish conspiracy to control Christian meat production?"

"It's true!" said the Abbot. "Have you seen them promote a _single_ pork-based product in their entire history? I don't think so."

The Pope sucked in a breath and rubbed his temples. He hadn't been sleeping well since this situation began. He worried that he was becoming irritable, although his staff assured him that they didn't notice a difference.

"Can we just continue?" the Pontiff asked. "Please?"

"A few days ago," said the Abbot, "members of the Michaeline Order managed to condense a demon's body using a new invention. She is currently being held in our Abbey's dungeon."

"Demons don't have bodies," said a theologian. "Haven't you read Saint Thomas Aquinas?"

_Aquinas again,_ the Abbot thought, gritting his teeth.

"Whatever Aquinas may say," the Abbot retorted, "Blessed Augustine teaches that the demons have subtle bodies."

In Abbot Edwin's opinion, theology had pretty much gone downhill since the 13th century, when Peripatetic*** philosophy infiltrated the universities. The Abbot couldn't deny the Peripatetics' success in explaining physical phenomena. But their impact on spiritual thought he found less than salutary.

Take the Peripatetic view of the soul, for example. According to the Peripatetics, the soul was merely the "form" of the body. On this view, it was hard to see how the soul could survive the body's death. The Peripatetics did say that the intellectual part of the soul was immortal. But as far as the Abbot could tell, that still left the afterlife prospects of most human beings rather in doubt.

In light of such deviations, it came as no surprise to Abbot Edwin that the Peripatetics had fallen victim to moral lapses as well. They were too soft on babies, for one thing. They had all long agreed that infants who died without baptism went to Limbo. This directly contradicted the Church Father Augustine, who taught that unbaptized infants suffered hellfire. As Augustine noted, the unbaptized carried the infinite guilt of Adam's sin, and so it was just for unbaptized infants to be punished. (Thus far, Abbot Edwin's campaign to have all infants executed upon birth had been unsuccessful.)

"Wait a minute," Brother Albert said, joining the Abbot at the front of the room. "The evidence suggests another explanation for what's happened here. Demons may not have true bodies, but they can make false bodies out of air. When Brother Eligius of the Michaelines attempted to use his new invention, the device's pneumatic conduits seem to have transmitted Brother Eligius's form and impressed it upon the demon's false body."

"Like a father transmitting form to his offspring," said a theologian.****

"So, in other words," said Brother Juniper, "Brother Eligius is a daddy!"

"Er, yes, I suppose you could say that," the Dominican replied.

"Yay!" Brother Juniper exclaimed, hugging Brother Eligius.

"So what do you recommend we do with this … creature?" the Pope asked Abbot Edwin.

"I suggest that we behead the demon immediately and dissolve her body in acid."

"You can't do that," protested Brother Juniper. "She'll die!"

"Shut up, Juniper. Don't you see, Your Holiness? Saint Paul wrote of a 'son of perdition' who would exalt himself above all objects of worship, taking his seat in the temple of God! Now a demon walks the earth as a creature of flesh and blood. Isn't it obvious that this is the Lawless One, the Man of Sin whose coming Paul foretold?"

"We've been over this, Father," said Brother Albert. "There's no reason to think that she's the Antichrist."

Brother Albert had spent many futile hours arguing with the Abbot on this point. The Church Fathers gave different physical descriptions of the Antichrist, but those who discussed his appearance all agreed that he would be fairly easy to identify. For example, a fifth-century book called _The Apocalypse of the Holy Theologian John_ gives the following description: "His mouth is a cubit wide, his teeth a span in length; his fingers are like sickles. His footprints are two cubits long, and on his forehead are the words 'The Antichrist'."*****

"I'll take your opinions under advisement," said the Pope.

"Your Holiness!" the Abbot protested. "We can't afford to delay. This abomination is a threat to the entire world!"

The Pope gazed at Abbot Edwin from beneath half-lidded eyes. "Abbot, I hope you'll forgive me if I have come to feel a twinge of skepticism when I hear those words come out of your mouth."

The Abbot drew himself up. "You Holiness, I think I deserve better than this. For over ten years now, I have been among the Church's most prominent public figures!"

"Please don't remind me," the Pope groaned, burying his face in his palm. "Okay, I'll tell you what. You and your Michaelines keep that demon or whatever it is under tight surveillance. Once Brother Albert is done running his tests, you can—"

Brother Christopher interrupted the Pontiff by bursting into the hall. "Could someone give me a hand?" he called. "Brother Juniper got his head stuck in the toilet again."

"How did he do that?" the Pope demanded.

"Presumably by putting his head in," Brother Christopher replied.

Pope Rural II closed his eyes. "All right, I think we've had enough excitement for one day. This synod is hereby adjourned until further notice. Would someone go help Brother Christopher dislodge Brother Juniper? Ah, thank you, Cardinal Bucatini."

The Pope sighed in relief as the delegates filed out of the hall. He looked up as the Dominican whom he had assigned to oversee the Michaelines walked over.

"How could you?" Brother Albert demanded. "How could you do this to me? Of all the assignments—"

"Be strong, my son," the Pope whispered. "Be strong."

* * *

><p>* The Apostolic Palace is the official name of the Pope's residence. In the real world, it's located in Rome, of course. But in my story, the Pope lives in exile in San Francisco.<p>

** Among many Christian groups, "synod" is one term for a church council.

*** "Peripatetic" is an old-fashioned word for the philosophical tradition influenced by Aristotle.

**** According to Aristotle's biological theories, the mother supplies the matter for her child, and the father gives form to the matter.

***** BTW, this is a real quote from a real book written during the time of the Church Fathers.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"I'm telling you, I'm not who you think I am!"

"Really? Then why do you talk just like Brother Tobias?"

"I don't know!" the young man whimpered, bowing his head under the Abbot's gaze. "But I know I'm not him! Please, you have to believe me!"

Abbot Edwin turned away from the prisoner, scowling.

"His claim is consistent with my hypothesis," said the Brother Albert.

"You really expect me to believe that this isn't Brother Tobias?" the Abbot demanded.

"Look," said the Dominican,* "Brother Eligius told us that the HT lost Brother Tobias's radical moisture during transport. If so, then that isn't Brother Tobias's body. And if it isn't Brother Tobias's body, then there's no reason to think that Brother Tobias's soul would be united with it."

"Brother Albert, if this is a whole new person in front of us, then how do you explain his command of the English language? I grant that he was babbling like an idiot when he rematerialized in the Abbey. But, for one thing, that isn't exactly uncharacteristic behavior among the members of this Order; and, for another thing, you can't possibly expect me to believe that he learned English that fast."

"Actually, there's a perfectly rational explanation for that, too," said the Dominican. "Sensory memories are stored as physical impressions in the backmost ventricle of the brain. When the HT constructed the copy of Brother Tobias that you see in front of you, the copy included—"

_Ding dong!_

"RAWR RAWR RAWR RAWR RAWR RAWR!" Brother Albert barked, swinging around to face the door of Brother Tobias's room.

Brothers Eligius and Martin fell to their knees, laughing hysterically. In his right hand, Brother Eligius clutched the fake doorbell button that he had designed shortly after Brother Albert's arrival.

"Hey, stop that!" Brother Albert sputtered.

Brother Eligius pressed the button again. _Ding dong!_

"RAWR RAWR RAWR RAWR RAWR RAWR!"

A pulsing vein stood out on the Abbot's forehead as he turned to face the two monks. "Brother Eligius, Brother Martin, you're supposed to be guarding the room, not being idiots!"

"That's okay," said Brother Martin. "We can multitask."

Abbot Edwin turned back to the now-snarling Dominican. "We're keeping him locked up, and that's final."

* * *

><p>Saraqujal didn't respond when Brother Juniper offered her one of his signature omelets.<p>

"They're really good," he said, nudging her with the plate. "Abbot Edwin says they're my greatest accomplishment since joining the Abbey."

"Go away," she muttered.

Brother Juniper frowned. "Looks like someone needs some cheering up," he said. "Here's a joke. Where does King Arthur park in Egypt?"

"Please shut up."

"The Camel Lot! Nyuck, nyuck—

"_Ow!_" the monk exclaimed, dropping the plate as the demon lashed out with her foot. "Hey, that was my stomach," he whimpered.

"Sorry. I'll try to aim lower next time."

Scraping his ruined omelet back onto the plate, Brother Juniper slunk out of the dungeon.

The demon let her head drop back to her chest. It was only a matter of time before the humans decided to kill her.

If defeated in his mission, a demon wasn't allowed to tempt again for a time, and during that time he was kept in Hell. Saraqujal trembled at the thought of what awaited her once her companions had her** back in the fires.

Suddenly she knew what she had to do.

* * *

><p><em>She should be hungry by now,<em> Brother Juniper thought. Rising from his pew in the Abbey's chapel, he genuflected and left for the kitchen.

"Hi there," he said timidly, entering the dungeon with a bowl of leftover soup. "Hungry now?"

The demon nodded.

"I don't want Abbot Edwin to kill you," Brother Juniper said as she slurped ravenously. "I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn't change his mind. Hey, do you have a name?"

"Saraqujal," she mumbled between slurps.

Brother Juniper considered this for a moment. "That's a hard name to remember. Can your name be Sara from now on?"

Sara shrugged.

"Do you like the tomato soup? I made it myself."

"From scratch?" Sara asked, trying to sound interested.

"No, from tomatoes. So, do you like it?"

Sara nodded briefly before returning to her slurping.

"It's Brother Tobias's favorite recipe."

For one blessed moment, Brother Juniper stopped talking.

"The papal legate says that Brother Tobias is dead, and that the soul in his body is someone else's." Brother Juniper paused, staring at the prisoner in front of him. "Hey, I know you're a demon and everything, but do you think you could say a prayer for Brother Tobias before you go to sleep tonight?"

"It won't work," Sara muttered around the edges of the bowl.

Brother Juniper cocked his head. "What won't work?"

"Praying for him won't work. He isn't in Purgatory."

"Really?" Brother Juniper cried joyfully, almost dropping the soup. "Wow, where did he get the money?"***

"No. I mean he's in Hell."

The monk's mouth gaped in shock. "Hell? But why? W-wait. How do you know he's in Hell?"

"Your friend Tobias was one of my Master's most devoted servants."

Brother Juniper's lower lip began to tremble.

"You know," Sara said carefully, "we might still be able to save him. You're the only person who's shown me any kindness since the Great War. So I thought you might be willing to help me rescue Brother Tobias. I know my way through Hell, and you're a … warrior monk. So we just might be able to do it."

"Okay!" Brother Juniper exclaimed, taking a transmitter from his robes. "I'll ask Abbot Edwin about it right now."

"No!" Sara shouted. "Come on; _think_!"

Brother Juniper whimpered. "Do I have to?"

"Never mind," said Sara. "I'll just tell you: you can't let your Abbot—or anyone else—know what we're doing."

"But I need Abbot Edwin's permission."

"Look, do you want to save him or not?"

Brother Juniper rubbed his chin.

"You're sure this will work?" he asked.

"Look, I'm a demon. Trust me."

Brother Juniper took a deep breath. "Okay, I'll do it!" he said.

"Well, if we're going to do this," said Sara, "we'll need some holy weapons."

"I've got some holey armor," Brother Juniper ventured. "Abbot Edwin gave each of us a bulletproof vest in case the Abbey got invaded. Mine is so holey you can see through it."

Sara suppressed a twitch. "I'll just make a list, okay?" she said.

* * *

><p>* Okay, I should have explained this earlier. If you don't know what the Dominicans are, they're a Catholic religious order devoted to preaching and scholarship. They're friars, not monks. Monks take a vow to stay in their monasteries. Friars don't.<p>

** If you're wondering about the gender-switching with the pronouns, here's how it works. Saraqujal is a demon. Demons are immaterial beings, so they don't have gender. "It" sounds wrong, so I call all demons (and angels) "he". But now that Saraqujal has a female human body, she needs to be called a "she".

*** Yes, this is a reference to indulgences, or rather to their abuse during the Middle Ages. Google it if you don't know what I'm talking about.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Ow!" Brother Juniper said as Sara shoved him into the closet. He looked over his shoulder as the door slid shut behind him. "Don't worry, Sara. I forgive you."

"Shut up," Sara snapped, turning to the control panel beside the door.

"You know," said Brother Juniper, "I'm sure God would forgive you if you just said you were sorry."

The demon frowned as she punched in a code to lock the monk inside. "Haven't you read the _Sentences_ of Peter Lombard?"

"Um, no. I saw it on a bookshelf once, but it looked a little too dense for me."

"What about John Damascene's _De Fide Orthodoxa_? Pope Gregory's _Moralia in Job_? Anselm's _De Causa Diaboli_?"

The monk shook his head. "Those also looked a little dense."

"I'm not sure the books are what's dense around here," Sara muttered. "How do they expect you to fight demons if you don't have any theological training?"

"I have theological training," Brother Juniper retorted. "Look on top of the cabinet."

"Well," Sara said, lifting a brightly-illustrated volume from the cabinet behind her, "I'm sure that the coloring activities were an invaluable educational aid." She turned back to the closet. "You read _this_ for your theological training?"

"No, I read the abridged version."

Sara sighed. "Well, if you _had_ read any of the books I just mentioned, you would know that fallen angels can't repent. What death is to men, the fall is to angels."*

"Why?"

Sara sighed. "Okay, I'll try to make this as simple as possible—"

"Uh, you lost me," said Brother Juniper.

Sara's fists clenched momentarily. Then she noticed the apple that had rolled to her feet.

"Where did that come from?" she asked.

"Oh, that was my lunch," said Brother Juniper. "You can have it if you want."

Sara eyed the apple for a moment, then sighed. "You eat it," she said, rolling the apple back under the door. "You already fed me today. And anyway, it probably wasn't very pleasant being knocked over the head and shoved into a closet. Go ahead. Consider it my apolo—"

Suddenly Sara stopped, her mouth open, gaping.

"Sara, are you okay?"

"Don't you see?" said Sara. "I … I just performed an act of charity."

"Really?" Brother Juniper said between bites. "How?"

"By not eating your lunch."

"Oh." The monk stared guiltily down at the half-eaten apple in his hands. "Gee, I feel like such a moocher."

_How?_ thought Sara.

But there was no time to think about that. Shaking the confusion from her mind, she turned away from the closet—then froze as she heard footsteps behind her.

"I wouldn't move if I were you," Brother Martin said, pressing the nozzle of a Super Soaker 200 against the back of her head. "Turn around."

He was leading her back to the dungeon when the bomb went off.

* * *

><p>Creaking and groaning, the wounded Abbey began to lose altitude.<p>

"What's going on?" Brother Albert demanded, stumbling out of the guest quarters and into the blare of an alarm siren.

"A bomb just went off in the engine room!" Brother Samuel replied as he hurried past. "Oh, and watch out for the demon. She's on the loose!"

The Dominican sighed. "Another typical day aboard Saint Michael's Abbey."

* * *

><p>In their effort to keep the Abbey airborne, the monks diverted all available power to the fire chambers, leaving the door to Brother Tobias's room unlocked. Soon the copy of Brother Tobias found himself recruited into the demon's entourage.<p>

"Is this really necessary?" the copy panted as he ran down the Abbey's hallways.

"Just keep going," Sara snapped, poking his back with a hylomorphic disruptor from the Abbey's armory.

Up ahead, the hallway opened up into the Abbey's hangar. The pair ran to the nearest airship, the _Durendal_.**

"Turn it on," Sara ordered, standing at the airship's doorway.

"I can't get past the security," the copy said, typing frantically at the control panel.

"Access denied," said the computer. "Please supply valid clearance."

Sara shoved the copy aside and pointed her disruptor at the airship's computer.

There was a brief pause.

"Access granted," said the computer, as the control panel lit up.

"Halt!" shouted a voice from behind them.

Sara turned slowly. Brothers Eligius, Christopher, Martin, Sebastian, and Juniper stood a few feet away, the crosshairs of their disruptors and impetus guns fixed on the demon.

"Drop the disruptor, demon!" Brother Sebastian demanded. "You have five seconds to comply. Five … four … three …"

"You forgot nine," said Brother Juniper.

"… two … one! That's it, demon. We're—"

"Seabass, wait!" Brother Juniper said, running between Sara and his fellow monks. "Let me talk to her."

"Juniper, get out of the way!" said Brother Sebastian.

"Seabass, please!" said the portly monk. "Let me try!"

Brother Sebastian sighed. "Fine. But if she hasn't dropped that weapon within one minute, I'll start—"

"Crying. I know. Don't worry."

Brother Juniper turned to face Sara. She still stood in the _Durendal_'s doorway, her disruptor pointed at the copy of Brother Tobias.

"Hey there," Brother Juniper said, taking a step forward. "I know you're scared, but you've got to stop this. You—"

Before the monks could react, Sara lunged and grabbed Brother Juniper, locking her arm around his neck. Holding him between herself and the other monks, she pointed her disruptor at his head.

"No, see, this is what I'm talking about," Brother Juniper said, crossing his arms.

"Drop your guns!" Sara screamed. "Or I'll coat the walls with brains!"

"Good luck," Brother Christopher muttered.

"I mean it!" Sara said, her finger pressing against one of the disruptor's nastier-looking buttons.

For a moment, the monks and the demons stood in silence, glaring at each other.

Brother Sebastian bowed his head. "Drop your guns," he said.

Brother Martin blinked. "Sebastian?"

"Drop your guns!" Brother Sebastian shouted. "All of you!"

Brother Martin put his hands on his hips. "This isn't what Abbot Edwin would do."

"Abbot Edwin's at the synod," said Brother Sebastian. "And in his absence, I'm in charge of this Abbey. Now drop your weapons!"

One by one, weapons clattered to the floor. Sara backed into the _Durendal_, still holding her disruptor to Brother Juniper's head. The door slid shut. A blast of impetus sent the monks sprawling as the airship rose from the ground, turning toward the opening at the other end of the hangar.

Brother Martin scrambled for his cannon, hoping to fire a shot at the airship's engines. But the _Durendal_ was gone, speeding down the runway and out into the evening sky.

* * *

><p>"Are you okay, Toby?" Brother Juniper asked, kneeling beside the copy of Brother Tobias, who had hit his head when the <em>Durendal<em> took off.

"I'll live," the copy replied, rubbing his forehead as he stood up.

Meanwhile, Sara stood at the control panel, typing feverishly.

"Um, what are you doing?" the copy asked, peering over her shoulder.

"I'm targeting their fire chambers."

"But that could make the Abbey explode!"

"Don't worry," Sara assured him. "We're outside the blast radius."

"You don't have to do this," said the copy. "They're disabled. They aren't a threat."

"And I'm going to make sure they stay that way," Sara replied, raising her finger over a large red button.

"_Wait!_" the copy cried, throwing his arms around Sara.

Caught off guard, the demon staggered backward, falling on top of the copy. Pulling free of his grasp, she backed up against the airship's wall as he scrambled to his feet. They glared at each other, their eyes darting to the disruptor that lay nearby on the floor.

"Idiot!" she screamed.

"Yes?" said Brother Juniper.

"I'm not talking to you this time," Sara snapped, keeping her eyes on the copy of Brother Tobias.

"I won't let you kill them!" said the copy. "I'm warning you: Brother Tobias passed the Order's combat training course."

"So did I," Brother Juniper said, grinning.

"Quiet, Juniper!" the copy hissed.

Sara crossed her hands. "I've heard a bit about your combat training course," she said. "Tell me, what exactly was your total kill count for the combat simulations?"

"Um ... one, if you count friendly fire. But ... but I did all the reading, and my classroom participation score was really high!"

Suddenly a jarring explosion knocked the airship's occupants off their feet. Scrambling up, Sara ran to the control panel. The monitor showed five swiftly-moving dots approaching the _Durendal_.

"This is Sister Jeanne of the Sisters of Divine Wrath," said a voice over the radio. "I've got four automated fighter units with me. Power down your weapons and prepare to be surrounded."

"Warning," said the _Durendal_'s computer. "There is a 90 percent probability of flareup at current fire-chamber agitation levels."

Sara's eyes darted frantically across the control panel monitor. At last they came to rest on a number of swirling vortices representing vacuum tunnels.

"Get ready for a vacuum jump!" she shouted.

"What— You can't just make a vacuum jump!" the copy protested. "You've got to divert power to formal integrity and get clearance from the control tower and—"

"Sorry, can't do that," Sara replied.

"Why?"

"I just blew up the control tower." Sara paused, jabbing furiously at the weapons controls before her. "And the fighter units," she added a moment later.

The copy winced. "Just the automated fighter units, right?"

"Don't worry; I got the other one too. Well, we don't have much time. The vacuum tunnel's about the re-pressurize. Hold on!"

For a moment, they hovered at the entrance to one of the great steel tubes that opened near the Apostolic Palace. Then the _Nicodemus_ was gone, replaced by air whooshing into the now-useless vacuum tunnel.

Down below, the _Judith's Blade_ hovered over the smoldering wreckage of Sister Jeanne's airship. Inside, Abbess Juliana and Sister Barbara bowed their heads.

"Sister Jeanne…" the Abbess murmured. She closed her eyes. "Grant her eternal rest, O Lord."

"And let perpetual light shine upon her," recited Sister Barbara.

Abbess Juliana lifted her face and glared at the vacuum tunnel's empty mouth. Her hands tightened into fists at her sides.

"That does it," she said. "That bitch is going down."

* * *

><p>* "What death is to men, the fall is to angels" – This is a quote from the 7th-century church father John Damascene (John of Damascus).<p>

** "Durendal" is the name of a sword that belonged to Roland, the hero of the medieval French epic poem _The Song of Roland_.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Morning sunlight streamed into the _Durendal_ through the doorway that had been torn open during the previous night's "landing".

"Hey Toby!" Juniper called from outside, as the copy of Brother Tobias began to stir on the floor. "You're just in time for Terce!"*

The copy sighed. "Not right now, Juniper."

Juniper frowned. "What's wrong, Toby?"

"If you haven't noticed, Juniper, things haven't exactly been going wonderfully for me lately."

Juniper's brow furrowed in concern. "Really? What happened?"

"Oh, you're up," Sara said, poking her head into airship. "Took you long enough. Come on. Let's get as far from here as possible before they find the shuttle."

Sara picked up the hylomorphic disruptor from the shuttle's floor and limped through the doorway.

"So … why aren't we in the process of being shot at or imprisoned?" the copy asked, catching up with her. "Not that I don't appreciate some variety in my life, but I'd think that our unauthorized vacuum jump should have drawn some attention."

"The control tower in San Francisco supplies half the power to the vacuum tunnel we used," Sara replied. "When I destroyed it, the control tower over here had to compensate, causing a city-wide blackout. I'm sure they got power back within minutes, but that was more than enough time for us to slip by."

"So where are we?"

Sara glanced at the beach beneath her feet and the skyline in the distance ahead.

"I'd say that's Santa Lucia City up ahead, judging from our trajectory exiting the vacuum tunnel and the ocean next to us."

Sara paused, then exclaimed, "Water!" She spun to face the copy, her eyes wild with hope. "Hey, would you baptize me?"

"You want me to … baptize you?"

"Baptism washes away sin.** I have a human body now, so I should be able to receive baptism. Please! It's my only hope."

"Um, alright," the copy said, scooping up some water in his hands and pouring it over Sara's head.

"I baptize you in the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit."

Sara opened her eyes. "Okay. Now I just have to not sin anymore."

"Hey!" called a voice from behind them.

Wheeling around, Sara fired her disruptor in a blinding bluish-white flash. For a moment, the brilliance framed a human silhouette. Then the man was gone, except for a few tatters of clothing that fluttered to the ground.

Sara winced as the copy turned to look at her. "Sorry. Reflex. Er, that was a sin, wasn't it?"

The copy nodded slowly.

"Great. What do I do now?"

"Well," said the copy, "aside from martyrdom, you could—"

"That's it!" Sara exclaimed. "I've got an idea!"

"Oh dear," said the copy.

"That's our solution!" said Sara. "Martyrs go straight to Heaven, cleansed by the blood of their passion.*** So all we need to do is get killed for the Faith, and we'll be saved!"

"What are you talking about?" the copy asked Sara. "This is the 28th century. No one persecutes Christians anymore."

"You're only thinking about the West. What about the Saracen lands?"

"The Saracens have been at peace with Christians for centuries. Pope Rural and the Caliph even signed a religious tolerance treaty in 2739. You can check theVaticanarchives. Well, actually, no you can't, but—"

"Then we'll have to fix that, won't we?"

"What do you mean?"

"We'll have to start a war between Christians and Saracens."

"Start a war?"

"What? It shouldn't be too hard."

"You're insane!"

"We've got our souls to worry about."

The copy rubbed his temples. "Okay, I think you're a bit unclear on the concept here."

"It's the only sure way to Heaven," Sara said. "Go to confession, and you could commit a mortal sin again. Try to repent on your own, and you might not repent completely. But die a martyr, and you go straight up."

"I'm not helping you start a war!" the copy shouted. He turned and started marching away. "I'm finding the Order, and I'm telling them what you're up to!"

Sara's eyes narrowed. "Stop."

The copy kept walking.

"Stop," Sara repeated. "Or die."

The copy stopped. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Sara pointing her disruptor at him.

"You can't just walk into Santa Lucia with a hylomorphic disruptor pointed at me!" he sputtered.

"I don't need to," the demon replied. "I've got this."

In her free hand, she held up something resembling a garage door opener. Suddenly the copy realized that it was the remote control for one of Brother Eligius's explosives.

"I implanted a small explosive inside your body while you were still unconscious," said Sara. "Make a wrong move, and I activate it."

"Wait," the copy said, patting himself all over. "_Inside_ me? How did you—"

"You don't want to know."

"I—I think you're bluffing," said the copy.

"Okay then," Sara said, moving her finger over the button. "Then I guess you won't mind if I do this—"

"Wait!" the copy shouted, reaching a hand out toward her.

Sara smirked, lifting her finger from the button.

The copy sighed. "Alright. You win."

"Come along, then," Sara said, setting off toward Santa Lucia. "And don't wander more than a few feet from me. Got it?"

"Hey guys!" Juniper called from the seashore, holding a shell to his ear. "You really _can_ hear the ocean in these things. It sounds so close, too!"

* * *

><p>* Terce is one of the offices of the Liturgy of Hours.<p>

** According to Catholic doctrine, everyone is born with "original sin" inherited from Adam. At baptism, God cleanses a person from original sin, although the _tendency_ to sin—a result of original sin—remains.

*** It has always been a traditional Catholic belief that martyrs go straight to heaven, even if they have not received baptism. Thus, martyrdom is sometimes called "baptism of blood".


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

It had been two hours since the three fugitives had entered Santa Lucia, the capital city of the Kingdom of America. Their destination, the Egyptian embassy, was still miles away, and without any money for bus fare, they had to make the walk.

Struggling to ignore Brother Juniper's humming, Sara ran through the situation again and again in her mind. How could she have done something so stupid? Salvation had been within her grasp, and in one moment of panic she had thrown it away. Such stupidity could be only human in origin.

So she had been right in her suspicions. Along with her human body, she had received a human soul. She knew it was true. Ever since they had trapped her in this body, she had felt a second mind within her, and a second will—a _human_ mind and a _human_ will.

Brother Tobias's copy—or Toby, as he had come to be called under Brother Juniper's influence—interrupted Sara's cogitation.

"Sara, people are staring at us."

"I can see that, Toby," the demon snapped.

"I think it's because of how we're dressed."

Suddenly Sara realized that she was still wearing a torn monk's habit. _Not good,_ she thought. Soon the airwaves would be full of reports about the prisoners who had escaped from Saint Michael's Abbey. Glancing around, she saw a young man reading a book on a nearby bench.

"Don't you dare try to run away," she hissed at Toby, then turned and walked over to the youth.

"Excuse me," she said.

"Hey," the stranger replied, glancing up. "Can I help you?"

"Sorry to bother you. I was wondering if you knew where I could get some clothes. I'm a tourist. As you can see, they mixed up my luggage with a hobo's."

"Sure, I know a mall right by here. Want me to show you the way?"

"Um, yeah, that would be great. I'm actually traveling with two other people, so give me a moment."

Sara turned and gestured Toby and Juniper over.

"My name's Sara. I'm sorry; I don't think I got your name."

"Sulayman," replied the young man.

"That's a Saracen name," said Brother Juniper. "You speak English?"

"No," Sulayman replied sardonically. "This is actually an extremely elaborate tic."

"Oh," said Brother Juniper. "Wait. What?"

"Please ignore Juniper," said Sara. "He's stupid. So, want to show us that department store?"

Fifteen minutes later, they stood inside the department store. To her encouragement, Sara noticed that the cashier, a Saracen, was dozing at his station. Beside her, Toby gazed in wonder at rows of pre-ripped jeans and shoes apparently designed to impede walking.

"I'm not a Saracen, but my dad spends a lot of time in Egypt," Sulayman explained to Sara. "He's a filmmaker."

"Hey Sara," Juniper called, holding up a skirt that had been accidentally placed in the belt section, "how about this?"

"Juniper, we're trying not to attract attention. I can't wear that. People would see my underwear."

"Oh." Juniper rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, then don't wear underwear with it," he suggested.

"Um, is your friend okay?" Sulayman asked Sara.

"It's been a while since Juniper took his meds," she explained. "They were in the luggage."

She glanced at the cashier, who was still dozing.

"Are you done yet?" she called to Toby, who was staring at a lingerie advertisement, and Juniper, who was trying to pull a pair of pants over his head. She turned to Sulayman. "I need to use the restroom. Excuse us for a moment."

Sulayman stared in puzzlement as Sara pulled Toby and Juniper into the restroom.

"I get lonely easily," she explained as she pulled the door shut.

"Quick," Sara said, turning to her companions, "let's put on our new clothes and get out of here."

"We can't do that," Juniper protested. "That would be stealing."

"Listen, Juniper. We're in a desperate situation here. If your Brothers in the Abbey find us, then all three of us will probably get executed. Do you want that?"

"No," said Juniper, "but—"

"Good. Then take off those monk's clothes and put on that … monk costume. Damn it, Juniper."

"Hey," Sulayman called, knocking on the bathroom door, "is everything okay in there?"

Sara walked over to the door, pulling on a light blue shirt with a turtle on it. "We're just fine. Why do you ask?"

"I need to go really bad."

"We'll be out in a moment," Sara replied, dumping the bundle of old monks' clothes into a wastebasket.

The three refugees walked past a puzzled-looking Sulayman, then set a brisk path toward the nearest exit.

"Hey Sara," Juniper said, pointing at a sign next to a security camera. "What does that sign say?"

Glancing nervously at the cashier, who had just woken up, Sara replied, "It says, 'Attention, shoplifters: you're on TV'."

Juniper gasped. "WE'RE ON TV?"

Sara didn't wait to see whether the cashier understood. Without waiting for Toby and Juniper, she darted through the exit and made it a short distance into the mall's main hallway before a security guard tackled her from the side.

"Why do imbeciles congregate around me?" Sara muttered as the guard led her back into the store.

"I don't know," said Sulayman, who had emerged from the bathroom. "Solidarity?"

He turned to the Saracen cashier.

"_I'm sorry, Ibrahim,_" he said in Arabic, "_Sometimes my friends take a joke a bit too far. _Come on, guys, stop playing pranks on the security personnel."

* * *

><p>"So," Sulayman said five minutes later, as the four of them sat in a café on the other end of the mall, "what's the real story? You aren't tourists, are you?"<p>

"Look, I appreciate your help," Sara said between bites of scone, "but I would prefer not to discuss this further."

"Okay," Sulayman said, rising from his seat, "then I guess you won't mind if I go back to the cashier and tell him to check the security footage from the restroom."

"Wait!" Sara called. "Stop!"

"Yes?"

Sara glanced over her shoulder at the crowds outside the café, then turned back to Sulayman. "I know you probably aren't going to believe this," she whispered, "but here it is anyway. The three of us are refugees. We're trying to flee the country after converting to Islam."

Sara paused to stomp on Juniper's foot as he opened his mouth.

Sulayman raised an eyebrow. "Really? I thought the Pope was on pretty good terms with the Caliph. Didn't they sign—"

"A religious tolerance treaty?" said Sara. "You're really that naïve? Look, we can't be seen outside like this. There are people looking for us. We need a place to hide until we can warn the Caliph."

The son of a freelance filmmaker, Sulayman had met many Saracens through his father's business contacts. He had learned early on not to discriminate against people based on their backgrounds—unlike the ignorant, bigoted, livestock-humping rednecks who infested so much of America.

Sighing, Sulayman took a cell phone from his pocket. "Hey Chris. Would you mind if I let three shoplifting strangers crash at our place for a while? … Come on, it'll only be until a foreign country grants them asylum. … What? No, they don't smoke." He glanced at Juniper doubtfully. "At least not tobacco. Okay, see you later."

"My roommate says you can stay at our place," Sulayman said, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. "Come on."

Sulayman and his newfound companions rose from their seats and headed out into the bustle of the mall. Across the room, a young woman in green cargo pants watched them over the top of her laptop.

"I've found them," she whispered into the tiny microphone beside her mouth.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Sorry about the mess," said Sulayman.

Stepping into the apartment, Sulayman felt the wall for the light switch. As the lights flickered on, he began wading into the collection of books, soda cans, and socks that garlanded his apartment's floor.

"Do you ever pick this stuff up?" asked Toby.

"Of course," Sulayman said defensively. "Right now, we have a major excavation going in the southeast corner of the living room. You can see some of our finds at the local archaeology museum if you don't believe me. Oh, by the way, help yourself to anything in the fridge."

"Can I have this yogurt?" Juniper called from the kitchen, pulling a milk carton from the refrigerator.

"Go ahead, but be sure to read the expiration date first."

"I can't. It's in hieroglyphics."

"What's our plan now?" Toby hissed at Sara, as he stacked some scattered books to make room for him to sit down.

"Dude, Toby, you just messed up my system," Sulayman said, flopping himself down on a section of junk through which occasional patches of couch were visible. "Well, I've got an architecture test to study for. You guys can do whatever you want."

Toby grabbed Sara's shoulder as she headed for the kitchen.

"_What is our plan?_" he whispered again. "You know, I'm thinking of finding a police station right now and turning myself i—"

Suddenly Toby shrieked and threw himself on the ground, curling into a fetal ball as he rolled from side to side.

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?" Sulayman screamed, throwing down his textbook.

"Uh," said Sara. She glanced at the small pile of geometric instruments sitting next to Sulayman. "Uh, Toby was once attacked by a mathematician. The mere sight of a protractor can trigger flashbacks."

"Perhaps this was a mistake," muttered Sulayman. "Anyway, like I said, I'm leaving for Egypt in two days for winter break. This place better not be messed up when I leave. Chris is even more of a neat freak than I am."

"I'm really sorry," Sara called to Sulyman, as she pulled Toby's trembling body through the door of the apartment and out into the hallway.

"What did you do to me?" Toby moaned from the floor.

"The explosive doubles as a pain inducer," said Sara. "Handy, huh?"

"Was that really necessary?" Toby asked, struggling to stand.

"Look, I've got my own soul to worry about," said Sara. "If you want to save yours, then I suggest that you stop being counterproductive and help me start that war."

"Fine," Toby sighed, dragging himself to his knees. "I don't really have much of a choice, do I?"

Toby had almost gotten back to his feet when the apartment door swung open, knocking Toby to the floor again.

"Hey, Sara," Sulayman called. "Could you give me a hand? Juniper just got his head stuck in the toilet. What goes on inside his head, anyway?"

"Not much," Sara muttered.

Sulayman looked down at Toby. "You coming?" he asked.

"Nah. I think I prefer it here," Toby replied.

Sulayman shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Stepping over Toby's prostrate body, Sara followed Sulayman back into the apartment. As she crossed the threshold, she glanced back at Toby, drawing her hand in a cutting motion in front of her throat before closing the door.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Cloaked in darkness, the _Malleus_ sped across the pre-dawn sky. Inside, two Michaelines worked quickly, silently, their movements cold and determined like the wingbeats of avenging angels. The only sound came from the pillow fight in the back of the cockpit.

"Would you two cut it out?" the Abbot snapped. "We've almost reached the target."

"Sorry, Father," Brother Christopher said, ducking a swing. "Brother Martin and I never realized that pillows could be so much fun!

Abbot Edwin turned to Brother Sergio. "What did you put on their bread?"

"Sorry," said Brother Sergio. "I thought it was chive butter."

The Abbot closed his eyes. "This is bad. Someone is deliberately trying to sabotage us."

"Talk about a superfluous effort," Brother Albert muttered, dodging a pillow. "Excuse me, but have you even told the Primate of Santa Lucia that you're doing this?"

"You want the Abbot to talk to a monkey?" Brother Martin demanded.

"No, you idiot," Abbot Edwin snapped. "He's talking about the archbishop."

The Abbot turned calmly to the Dominican. "We are not within the diocese of Santa Lucia. We are above it. And besides, as an independent religious order, the Order of Saint Michel answers only to the Pope."

"Well, that's a relief," muttered Brother Albert. "It's good to know that we aren't committing murder illegally."

"We're approaching the coordinates," said Brother Sergio.

"Good," said the Abbot. "Is the bomb ready?"

"That's an apartment building!" Brother Albert exclaimed.

There was a brief pause.

"And…?" said Abbot Edwin.

"There are people in there!"

"Yes, Brother Albert, we're all very impressed by your powers of observation. Now, can we—"

"My God," Brother Sergio breathed. "Father, look!"

These were the coordinates. Below the _Malleus_, a billowing column of smoke and ash rose from the side of the apartment building. The receptor readings confirmed that the column was coming from apartment 7.

Abbot Edwin hit a speed-dial number on the control panel and waited.

"Yes, Abbot Edwin?" said a groggy voice over the Abbey's radio. "This had better be important."

"We're at the target's location, Your Holiness," said Abbot Edwin, "but someone seems to have already bombed the apartment."

"What?" shouted the Pope. "I didn't tell those Sisters to _bomb_ it!"

"Sisters?" Abbot Edwin exclaimed indignantly, nudging a detonator behind a chair with his foot. "You authorized _them_ to find the demon too? Why didn't you tell us?"

"As our Lord said, 'You shall know them by their fruits.'"

"Are you calling us gay?" Brother Christopher demanded.

A long sigh emanated from the _Malleus_'s speakers. "No," Rural II said, slowly lifting his face from his palm. "I'm suggesting that you begin to operate more effectively if you want to keep receiving those fat checks. Pope out."

The Abbot slammed his fist down on the airship's control panel. "Those Sisters of— Sisters of— What's their full name, again?"

"The Sisters of Divine Wrath," replied Brother Sergio.

"Damn it, they even have a cooler name than we do!"

Abbot Edwin slumped back into his seat and covered his face with his hands.

"It's happening all over again," he moaned. "Juliana Rodriguez was my worst fear in fourth grade. And the teachers—they did nothing! I think they enjoyed seeing her get the upper hand." The Abbot's face twisted in rage. "Do you know what it's like to get beaten up by a girl?"

"Yes," said the other Michaelines.

Abbot Edwin lifted his hands from his face and stared at his fellow monks. "It never ends," he muttered.

Suddenly the Abbot sat up. "Well, she won't win this time! Brother Sergio, take us back to the Abbey. Brothers Martin and Christopher, when you're done putting underwear on your heads, find something strategic for us to blow up. And it better be big."


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Those of you who have read my previous story, _High School Messiah_—that's right, all two of you—may notice that some of the jokes in this and previous chapters appear to have been recycled from _High School Messiah_. Well, they are the same jokes. But in my defense, I will note that I actually drafted this entire story long before I started writing _High School Messiah_ and long before I had a FF account. I waited until now to start posting it online because I lost interest in it for a while. Anyway, I should stop boring you. On to chapter 12…

* * *

><p>Chapter 12<p>

"Wow," Juniper said, staring at the flowing Arabic calligraphy framed on the Egyptian Embassy's wall, "Egyptians have really bad handwriting. I can't even read that."

"Shhh!" Sara hissed.

"I'm sorry," said the receptionist. "Ambassador Harun doesn't make same-day appointments."

"We got up at five o'clock this morning to take a hypertrain here," said Sulayman. "Can't he set aside just a few minutes to talk to us? These people came all the way from San Francisco to see him."

"If you would like to leave a comment, you can use this form," the receptionist replied, holding up a sheet of paper.

After the four visitors had left, the receptionist hailed a passing aide and handed the comment form to her.

"Make sure this reaches the Ambassador's wastebasket, would you?" she said.

A man in a black suit stopped the aide at the door of the Ambassador's office.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You can't come in at this time. The Ambassador is engaged in high-profile negotiations at the moment."

"Negotiations?" said the aide. "It sounds like he's screaming at someone."

"You must be new here. The Ambassador is known for his aggressive diplomacy."

"Ah. That would explain the furniture being thrown around. Aren't you worried about his safety?"

"The Ambassador has a certificate in Tai Chi from Isidore Online University. He'll be fine. Besides, it's a phone conference."

"What am I supposed to do with this?" the aide asked, holding up the comment form.

The officer wrinkled his nose. "A comment form? I don't know. Eat it."

"I think I'll just slip it under the door, okay?"

"Sure," the officer said, stepping aside. "Just watch out for the shrapnel."

Inside the office, Ambassador Harun slammed his fist down on his desktop.

"Damn it, Lenny! I'm through with these games! Just tell me who blew up the control tower."

"That's classified," replied Lenard Hartner Diaz, King of America.

"You know, this is pretty suspicious," the Ambassador snapped. "A total blackout in all cities linked to SF by vacuum tunnel… It would have been a perfect opportunity to sneak some spies into Cairo."

"_As-salam alaikum_,* Harun," Lenard muttered, hanging up.

"_Wa-alaikum salam!_"* Harun shouted, slamming down his receiver.

Then he noticed the comment form sticking out from under the door. He picked it up and read it:

_Dear Ambassador,_

_I am a student at Saint Lucia University. Yesterday three strangers accosted me, claiming to be fugitives from the Kingdom of America with a secret message regarding an international conspiracy against the Caliphate.** I offered to let them stay overnight in my apartment. If you wish to communicate with me, my contact information is as follows:_

_Sulayman O'Connor_

_1253 Chrysostom Way, apt 7_

_510-529-6589_

Disgusted, the Ambassador tossed the paper into his wastebasket and threw himself down into his chair, squeezing a pair of foam stress-camels and staring at the morpho-screen hovering over his desk.

Among the various notices and memos that cluttered the floating screen, one caught his eye. It was a news report about the bombing of a student housing complex near Santa Lucia University.

The address was 1253 Chrysostom Way.

* * *

><p>"You say you're converts?" said the Ambassador. "Quote the Quran for me, then."<p>

"_La illaha illa la,_"*** Toby replied, reciting the words the Sara had whispered to him five minutes earlier.

"That isn't actually in the Quran," the Ambassador pointed out.

Toby scratched his head. "_Allahu akbar?_" he ventured.

"Try again."

"_Falafel?_"

Sara intervened. "I'm sorry, Ambassador. My friend here is only a recent convert. He hasn't memorized any of the Quran yet."

"Well, I suppose that doesn't matter, as long as he intends to learn. Why is your other friend wearing duct tape over his mouth?"

"Public health and safety," Sara replied. "Can we get down to business? You've already seen what the Christians are capable of. You need to start preparing for another attack."

"We're already on it," Harun said grimly. "We've started the biggest letter-writing campaign in Egyptian history, asking the Pope for a full apology. They'll never see it coming."

"With all due respect, Ambassador," said Sara, "don't you think it's time for more drastic measures? I mean, they tried to kill us just to stop us from delivering our message. They're obviously up to something. Also, I was thinking—shouldn't you be worried about the Christians living in Egypt? Who knows how many of them might be spies for Rome?"

"That's preposterous," said the Ambassador. "Most of the Christians in Egypt are Coptic Orthodox who don't recognize Rome's authority."

"That's what you think," said Sara. "Listen—"

As they left the Ambassador's office, Toby peeled away the duct tape over Juniper's mouth.

"I know it's an awful thing to say," Juniper whispered as they boarded the airship that would take them to Egypt, "but I don't trust Sara. She told Sulayman we were converts to Muslimism, then stomped on my foot when I tried to correct her. Is she … lying about us?"

"No, Juniper," Toby said slowly. "She's just asking the Caliph for a place to stay. Everything's … fine."

Juniper smiled. "That's good. I guess she's turning around, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

* * *

><p>* A traditional Islamic greeting. One person says, "<em>As-salaam alaikum<em>", which means "Peace be with you"; the other person replies, "_Wa-alaikum salaam_", which means "And upon you be peace."

** At least originally, Muslims envisioned the Islamic community as being ruled by a person called a Caliph. A Caliphate is the community ruled by a Caliph. Throughout history, various Muslim rulers in different parts of the world have claimed the title of "Caliph" for themselves. Disagreement over how to choose a Caliph is the main reason for the split between Sunnis and Shia. (Shia think that the Caliph must be from the prophet Muhammad's bloodline.)

*** Literally, "There is no god except God". This is part of the _Shahada_, the Islamic declaration of faith. The whole thing runs as follows: "There is no god except God, and Muhammad is God's messenger."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Constans Gottschalk, Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, stood next to the punch bowl, pretending to be interested in the grout pattern on the countertop. He had never particularly liked these diplomatic events. He never knew what to say. On the upside, he did know many things _not_ to say. In fact, he seemed to learn something new every time he spoke.

The Holy Roman Empire was a small village located in southern Germany.* It had once been slightly larger, but the rise of nation-states had dismembered it bit by bit. Historians were frankly baffled by its continued survival. Many of them had even set to work trying to determine the exact point at which it should logically have collapsed. Estimates varied, but a general scholarly consensus placed the date somewhere between the canonization of Saint Martin Luther and America's second war of independence against Guam.

An all-too-familiar hand slapped the Emperor on the back, causing him to spill punch on his suit. Reluctantly, Constans turned to face the grinning visage of King Cristobol of the Antipodal Colony. Behind Cristobol stood King Akau of Hawaii and the recently-elected King Thorbern of Iceland.

Like almost all rulers in the twentieth century, the King of Iceland was elected by a popular vote. Whereas the kings of old often inherited their crowns and could oppress their subjects without any popular mandate, the people of modern Europe, after centuries of struggle, had finally achieved the power to choose their oppressors.

"Hey Connie," smirked Cristobol. "How's the vegetation removal program going in your Empire? Has the kid returned the lawn mower yet?"

Cristobol and his cronies burst into laughter.

"No, not quite yet," Constans murmured with a weak smile.

"I heard it got delayed due to a lack of funds," said King Thorbern. "Kids usually charge up to two dollars for lawn-mowing these days."

More laughter. Constans silently filled his plastic cup with more punch, drank it, then filled it up again.

"Hey, Constans, what's it like ruling a country that doesn't even have its own area code?"

"We have our own street address," said Constans meekly.

The laughter was cut short as King Roland of France stepped into the circle.

"Come on, guys. Leave him alone," said Roland.

"Geez, Roland. We were just joking," Cristobol called as Roland led Constans away from the circle.

"King Cristobol and his friends are idiots," said Roland. "Don't listen to them."

"It's okay," said Constans. "I don't mind."

Roland frowned at Constans but said nothing. There was a lengthy pause as Constans tried to think of something conversational to say.

"So did you hear about the recent bombing in Egypt?"

"Stan, that's what this meeting is about."

"Oh. Right."

Further silence. Constans was about to ask Roland if he had heard about France's recent economic downturn when a loud voice summoned all attention to the front of the room. Still chattering, the kings, bishops, and prelates took their seats. At the front of the room, Pope Rural II stood behind a podium. After waiting patiently for a few moments, the Pope held up two fingers. The room went silent, except for some giggling at the back.

"I've called this synod to discuss the Saracen threat," said Rural. "The Caliph of Egypt is threatening to declare war on America."

A bishop raised his hand. "Does this have something to do with those rumors about a demon-

turned-human who escaped from an American research facility?"

"That's preposterous," sniffed the Pope. "It was an abbey, not a research facility, and— I mean, no. Next question?"

* * *

><p>Emperor Constans was not a pacifist. He knew that war was sometimes necessary. However, he had always taken a very strong and principled stand against all wars involving himself.<p>

"Are you okay, Stan?" Roland asked, looking up from his chicken sandwich.

"I don't like war," murmured Constans.

"Really? Well, I'm sure the Caliph will take that under advisement."

"You don't understand," Constans exclaimed. "Pope Rural expects me to send the Empire's soldiers to fight."

"That's what they're trained to do. What's the problem?"

"Well, the Empire doesn't have any soldiers, for one thing."

"What? You don't even have any soldiers?"

"We did, but he retired recently," Constans replied. "We've been trying to recruit from the current able-bodied populace, but they're both conscientious objectors."

"I see," said Roland. "Of course," he reflected, "as Emperor, you're technically the commander of the Imperial Army…."

Constans swung his head to the side, spewing a mouthful of non-alcoholic beer onto the cassock of a passing bishop.

"Wait. You're not suggesting—"

"What choice do you have?" asked Roland. "The Pope can take away your authority within the Empire with the stroke of a pen. I mean, I'm sure Mr. Koch would remain loyal, but the Biermanns have been just looking for an excuse to rebel."

"I don't have any actual combat experience," Constans pointed out.

"True, but you practice a lot when you're online. Don't worry, Stan." Roland put his hand on the Emperor's shoulder. "I'll take care of you. We'll take care of each other. It'll work. You'll see."

* * *

><p>* In the 18th century, the satirist Voltaire wrote that the Holy Roman Empire was not holy, was not Roman, and was not an empire. The Holy Roman Empire was established in 800 AD when Pope Leo III crowned Charlemagne as "Emperor of the Romans". (This is somewhat hilarious, since Charlemagne's kingdom was centered in what is now Germany.) During the Middle Ages, it was generally assumed that the Church needed a secular arm as well as a spiritual arm. In western Europe, the Holy Roman Empire was supposed to be that secular arm. (In eastern Europe and the Near East, there was already a Christian empire, the Byzantine Empire. But by 800, the western part of the Church viewed the Byzantine Empire as a rival, which is why the pope created the Holy Roman Empire.) At the height of its power, the Empire covered a large portion of western Europe. However, the medieval ideal of uniting all Christianity—or even all western Christianity—under a single Emperor was never achieved. In my story's timeline, the Holy Roman Empire still exists, sort of.<p> 


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Sara sat on a couch in the Caliph's palace, watching the evening news with satisfaction. Everything was going according to plan.

The Synod of San Francisco was over. The battle lines were drawn. Every Roman Catholic ruler was sending troops to resist the Saracens. Meanwhile, soldiers poured in from Persia and Hindustan to support the Egyptian Caliph. There had already been anti-Saracen riots on the streets of Cordoba and anti-Christian riots on the streets of Damascus.

In fact, a war-fever seemed to have gripped the entire globe. Bound by a mutual-defense treaty, China was sending thirty of its fastest airships to aid the Saracen forces. As China's long-time rival, Japan had pledged to aid the Catholics. Allied both with Japan and with the Caliphate, Russia had decided to assign five hundred troops to each side. (To save money on fuel, the Russian government was having the troops fight each other in Russia.) Unwilling to be left out, Greece was sending a squadron to the upcoming battle to shoot randomly at passing airships. Switzerland, of course, was neutral.

Of course, the Caliph was unlikely to win this war. Despite its vast territory, the Caliphate's lodestone* supply was running dangerously low. In fact, the only mineral resource still in abundance in the Middle East was a bunch of black, smelly oil that no one knew what to do with.* Sara didn't care. By the time the Christians marched into Cairo, she would be safely dead.

* * *

><p>They met over the Atlantic Ocean—long, serried rows of airships, their metallic hulls glittering in the morning light. Behind the Saracen force hovered the <em>Zulfiqar<em>, the flagship of the Caliphate's Airfleet. On the bridge, Admiral Akbar paced back and forth impatiently.

"Where's Emperor Constans?" he demanded. "This battle was supposed to start forty minutes ago."

"Maybe he got caught in traffic," the ship's helmsman suggested. "It's the morning rush hour, you know."

"Well, he could at least have called."

"Sir!" said an officer. "I'm detecting a small shuttlecraft approaching at high speed from behind us. It has a pencil sketch of the Imperial insignia taped to its side."

"That would be Constans," Admiral Akbar muttered.

"Hey guys," Constans panted over the _Zulfiqar's_ radio. "Sorry I'm late. Can I get through here, please?"

"Alright, let him through," the Admiral sighed, then frowned. "Wait. You were rushing here by airship, not foot. Why are you breathing so hard?"

"This airship is bicycle-powered. The Empire couldn't afford a lodestone* generator. Oh, and be gentle with it, would you? It's a rental."

The Admiral shook his head as the Imperial battleship meandered between the Saracen ships, finally taking up its position next to King Roland's fleet.

"Okay," sighed the Admiral, "I think we're ready to start, then?"

* * *

><p>"Sara?"<p>

"Yes?" Sara replied without shifting her gaze from the news.

"Why don't you ever let me talk when we're outside this room?"

"Juniper, I've told you before. It's against Saracen custom for people with the name Juniper to speak."

"But … that doesn't make sense. Juniper isn't even a Saracen name."

"Exactly. Which is why the custom hasn't been a problem until now."

Juniper frowned. Out of the corner of her eye, Sara noticed him scratching his head.

"Hey, Juniper," she said, attempting to distract him, "I bet you'll never guess what I got you for Christmas!"

"You got me a Christmas present?" Juniper exclaimed.

"Yes! Here," Sara said, handing the portly monk a pair of disintegrating sandals.

Toby looked up from the copy of the Quran that he had been reading. "Sara, those sandals already belonged to Juniper. You just picked them up off the floor!"

"It's okay, Toby," Juniper said, taking the sandals. "It's the thought that counts."

"I wonder where the maid is," Sara said, rising from the couch. "They usually bring in dinner by now."

She stepped toward the door—then froze at the sound of frantic scrambling. She hesitated for only a moment. Throwing the door open, she ran out into the hallway, after the fleeing maidservant.

Weighted down by her load of laundry, the maid made it only a few steps before Sara tackled her to the floor. Her shriek was cut off by a hand over her mouth and the muzzle of an impetus gun pressed into her side.

"Help me," Sara called to Toby, as she dragged the terrified maid toward the guest quarters.

"What are you doing?" Toby exclaimed from inside the guest quarters.

"Keeping this eavesdropper from blowing our cover," Sara replied.

"Let her go, Sara."

"You fool! If she tells the Caliph what she heard, we're dead."

"Isn't that what you want—for the Saracens to kill us?"

"Yes, but it has to be because we're Christians; otherwise it won't count as martyrdom."

"That does it," Toby said, marching out into the hallway. "I'm through with this! I'm telling the Caliph the truth."

"Go ahead, Toby," Sara called back, whipping out the detonator with her free hand. "But I hope you like being splattered across the walls."

"Dammit," Toby hissed, stopping in his tracks.

"What's going on?" Juniper asked, poking his head out the door.

"Nothing!" Sara snapped. "Get back inside."

Juniper smiled. "Okay!"

Under Sara's direction, Toby gagged the maid with a hand towel and started dragging her toward the door—but not before another maid rounded the corner with a tray of baked eggplant.

"Toby, get her the rest of the way in there," Sara snapped, as the tray clattered to the floor. "I'm going after the this new one."

"Are you sure this is—" Toby began, then sighed. "Sorry about this," he said to the weeping maid as he pulled her through the doorway.

Sara returned shortly, escorting the second maid at gunpoint.

"Bind and gag her like the other one," she said to Toby. "I'll—"

Sara's words were interrupted by a small scream from behind her. She turned to see a third maid with her hands over her mouth.

"Not again," Sara groaned. She turned to Toby. "Stay here!"

* * *

><p>A violent impact shook the <em>Paladin<em>, knocking King Roland off his feet.

"We've been hit!" exclaimed the helmsman, in case that had been unclear.

"Stan, are you okay?" Roland shouted into the radio.

"Help!" Constans screamed from the other end. "I'm caught in crossfire!"

"Crossfire? Stan, have you been contributing at all?"

"Um, I managed to block a missile with my ship."

Roland sighed. "I can't help you. My ship's disabled. In fact, could you give me a hand?"

"My pedaling is barely enough to keep the heat up in my fire chamber. I don't think I can spare much ignium for weapons."

"Stan! Take a risk for once in your life."

The Emperor shook his head. "Sounds dangerous."

"What about an impetus gun? Have you got one of those?"

Constans's ship did have an impetus gun, but he was reluctant to use it. An impetus gun was a showy weapon, and the Emperor was not the type to draw attention to himself, especially during a battle.

"I'm sorry, but the Empire banned the use of impetus weapons during wartime."

"What? When?"

"Er … three seconds ago."

"Constans! I—"

Constans's radio garbled and went silent. Looking out his viewscreen, the Emperor saw the _Paladin_ surrounded by Saracen ships and wreathed in plumes of yellow-orange flame.

Firing an impetus gun requires a ridiculous amount of astromagnetic* power. Actually doing damage with an impetus gun requires an even more ridiculous amount of astromagnetic power or at least a really strong arm. Constans had neither.

However, he did have a bicycle-powered generator, a pair of only moderately-atrophied legs, and the fierce loyalty of one who had, on more than one occasion, been rescued from the Imperial outhouse tank by Roland after being placed there by visiting monarchs.

Constans started pedaling hard.

Sara shut the door to the guest quarters and stepped back with a satisfied sigh. It had taken all afternoon, and a few relatively complicated geometric calculations, but she had managed to fit all the maids into the guest quarters.

At that moment, five palace guards rounded the corner.

"Great," muttered Toby. "What do we do now?"

"Just act normal," whispered Sara.

Juniper began to practice his pigeon impression.

"I didn't mean _you_!" Sara snapped.

"_As-salaam alaikum_," one of the guards greeted the fugitives in slightly accented English. "You wouldn't happen to have seen any of His Highness's maids, would you? They all seem to be missing."

Juniper opened his mouth, but Sara's elbow drove the air from his lungs.

Sara shook her head. "Sorry. Good luck!"

The guard nodded and was about to continue down the hallway when a high-pitched scream emanated from the guest quarters, echoing down the hallway.

"Um. What was that?" the guard asked.

"What was what?" asked Sara.

Sara and Toby watched helplessly as the five guards marched over to the door and pried it open, only to be temporarily buried beneath an avalanche of maids.

"Run!" Sara shouted.

With half of the palace's servants incapacitated and the other half engaged in a search for the first half, the fugitives made it onto the streets of Cairo before the first impetus blast rang out.

"_After them!_" a guard shouted in Arabic, as twelve of his colleagues followed him out of the palace gates.

There was another shot, and Toby squealed in pain as an impetus pulse grazed his arm. But the three fugitives kept running and quickly vanished into the milling crowds. Scurrying into a back alley, they waited silently as a pair of guards hurried past.

As they stepped cautiously out from the alley, a shiny silver car pulled up alongside them.

"Hey," said the driver, "are you okay?"

"Sulayman!" Sara exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

* * *

><p>* In the backstory for this novel, technology runs almost entirely on power derived from naturally-occurring magnets. (Hence the absence of petroleum-based technology.) Naturally-occurring magnets used to be called lodestones. In the late Middle Ages, there was a theory that lodestones received their power of attraction from "influences" radiated from the celestial spheres. (Hence the term "astromagnetic".) Also, in the Middle Ages, people (largely) did not know that you could create a magnet artificially, by rubbing pieces of metal together. (Hence the reference to the Caliphate's lodestone shortage.) Basically, technology in my fictional world uses naturally-occurring magnets to tap into the inexhaustible energy of the celestial spheres. Does this all sound nonsensical and confusing? Well, good. That means I made the right decision in deciding to leave discussions of it out of the main story.<p> 


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Ignium charges exploded around the Antipodean battleship, filling the viewscreen with white fire.

"Fire chamber agitation is reaching critical!" a crewmember shouted. "It's on the brink of flareup."

Captain Hernando turned to King Cristobol.

"It has been an honor serving under you, Your Highness," said the captain.

"It isn't fair, you know," said the king. "No one ever asked me whether I wanted to fight in this war."

"That's because you volunteered."

The king sniffed. "That's a fine excuse to force a man to throw away his friends and family and hard-earned riches to go fight in some godforsaken hellhole."

"Hard-earned? You were born into your money."

"And do you have any idea what a difficult birth it was?"

The captain sighed. "I give up."

"Wait!" cried the helmsman, zooming the viewscreen in on a portion of sky. "What's that?"

King Cristobol squinted at the swiftly-approaching airship, then gaped. "It's Constans! What's he doing?"

Aboard the _Zulfiqar_, Admiral Akbar eyed the approaching challenger.

"That fool," he sneered. "His ship doesn't even have a lodestone generator, and he's trying to challenge us?"

Three ignium-packed homing missiles screamed from the _Zulfiqar_'s weapon ports. The missiles flew straight and true, toward the heart of the little rental ship, before suddenly veering off in different directions.

The Admiral turned to the _Zulfiqar_'s captain. "Captain Haitham, exactly what missile model are you using?"

"It's the Malleus V, the latest missile model developed by the Order of Saint Michael, sir. Some of our spies were able to smuggle the design from San Francisco before the war started. It goes straight for 100 feet, then homes in on the nearest running lodestone generator."

The captain paused.

"Oh crap."

The _Zulfiqar_'s crew watched the missiles turn in long, seemingly slow arcs until they were pointing toward the _Zulfiqar_. The Admiral staggered backward in disbelief.

"It's a trap!" he cried, shutting his eyes as the viewscreen became a wall of light.

When he opened them again, the _Zulfiqar_'s thrusters had been destroyed, leaving it to float helplessly as the little rental ship swooped in.

"Um. Er. Hello," said a nervous voice over the radio. "This is Roman Emperor Constans. Surrender or be destroyed. Uh. Yeah."

"Where are the other ships?" the Admiral hissed at the captain. "Tell them to get over here!"

"I can't. He's disabled all of them. Or, rather, they disabled themselves."

"What? _All_ of them? Our allies too?"

"Yes, sir."

"But that's our entire fleet!"

"We had them all retrofitted with Malleus V missiles, sir."

"Gaaaarrrrgh!" screamed the Admiral.

"We're receiving a transmission from the Caliph," said the helmsman. "He's telling us to call a ceasefire."

"What, while we're ahead?" the Admiral muttered. He turned to the radio. "Emperor, please power down your weapons. The Commander of the Faithful is calling a ceasefire."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Toby awoke to find himself lying in a bed. He sat up and looked around. It looked like he was in a bedroom. Where was he?

"Oh, you're awake," said a voice.

Toby turned to see Juniper standing at the entrance to the room. In one hand, the portly monk supported platter piled high with uncooked and slightly stale toaster pastries. Behind Juniper, Toby could see what looked like a kitchen.

"Where are we?" asked Toby.

"This is Sulayman's parents' summer house. Sulayman's letting us stay. "Pastry?"

"I'm good," Toby muttered, trying to make an effort to get up and failing miserably. He glanced at his arm, noticing for the first time that it was bandaged. "Where's Sara?" he asked.

"In Sulayman's bed."

"What?"

"Yeah, Sulayman put us in his parents' bed and Sara in his bed. He slept on the couch. He said we could have anything from the kitchen. He's such a nice guy."

Toby sighed and buried his face in his pillow. "Oh, God, what have I done?"

Toby's quiet sobs managed to cut through the wall of compassionate obliviousness that normally surrounded Juniper. He put down his pastry and turned to Toby.

"It looks like someone needs some cheering up," he said. "I've got a joke. Where does King Arthur park in Egypt? The Camel—"

"You don't understand!" Toby shouted. "You have no idea why Sara said we were converts to Islam. You have no idea what's going on!"

"It's okay," said Juniper. "It's really not that bad once you get used to it."

Toby took a deep breath. "There's something I need to tell you, Juniper."

"Really? What do you need to tell him?"

Juniper looked toward the bedroom's entrance. "Hi Sulayman! Hi Sara!"

Very slowly, Toby raised his eyes to see a frowning Sulayman and a groggy but frantically gesticulating Sara in the doorway.

"Um," said Toby, "I think I should let Sara explain the situation to you."

Sulayman turned to Sara. "Sara, what's really going on here?"

Sara was silent for a long moment.

"All right," she said at last. "No more lies. Sulayman, I'm not actually a convert to Islam. I'm a lifelong Catholic and a graduate student at Scotus University."

Juniper frowned and scratched his head.

Sulayman crossed his arms. "A graduate student?"

"Look, would you rather believe the Pope and the Caliph?"

Sara picked up a remote control from the table beside Sulayman's parents' bed. The Cairo News Network was just finishing a report on a press conference held by the Pope and the Caliph.

"It has come to our attention," the Caliph said, standing behind a podium, "that an evil _jinni_* of some kind has taken on a human body. Calling herself Sara and posing as a refugee at my palace, this demon has already plunged the Caliphate and the Catholic lands into conflict. We discovered the truth just in time to avert a catastrophic war. At present, we do not know exactly what this creature's goals are, but we do know that they are part of the continuing rise in demonic activity around the globe. After a meeting hosted by the Patriarch of Constantinople, His Holiness Pope Rural II and I are forming a joint task force to—"

"I mean, really?" said Sara. "_Really?_ A demon? That's the best story they could come up with?"

Sulayman had to admit that it seemed a bit far-fetched.

But then what's really going on? Why did the Pope bomb my apartment? Why did you try to get asylum from the Caliph?"

Two years ago, I went to Africa to do zoological research in the Antipodes. But the Pope feared the information that I brought back. I had to flee from the Church, along with my fellow student, Toby. We took refuge with the Caliph. But when I told him the real reason I was on the run, he wanted to silence me as much as the Pope did. We escaped from the palace right before you showed up."

Juniper tugged on Sara's sleeve. "Um, Sara, I don't remember any of that," he said.

"Oh dear. We'll have to do something about that," Sara said.

There was a stove right next to doorway where Sara was standing, on the kitchen side. Sara grabbed a frying pan from the stovetop and hit Juniper over the head with it.

Toby ran over to where Juniper lay.

"Sara!" he exclaimed, glaring up at her from beside Juniper's unconscious form.

"What did you do _that_ for?" gasped Sulayman.

"Relax. He's actually a robotic assistant assigned to Toby and me by the university."

"Robotic assistant?" said Sulayman. "I thought scientists were still decades away from developing artificial intelligence."

Sara glanced at Juniper. "They definitely are," she muttered. "Anyway, he was malfunctioning. I needed to shut him down."

"By hitting him with a frying pan?"

"I know. It's the worst user interface ever. Don't worry. His skull is thick enough to cushion most of the impact. Believe me."

"But what is it?" demanded Sulayman. "What's this secret that both the Pope and the Caliph are so afraid of?"

Sara fixed Sulayman with her green eyes. "The Garden of Eden," she said. "I've found it."

* * *

><p>* <em>Jinni<em> (plural: _jinn_) is where the word "genie" comes from. According to Islam, there are three intelligent species: humans, which are made of clay; angels, which are made of light; and _jinn_, which are made of "smokeless fire".


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

_Heu mihi quia incolatus meus prolongatus __est habitavi cum habitationibus Cedar…_

"It isn't fair," Brother Albert muttered, as the long, sonorous chant of the Divine Office washed over him.

Indeed, it wasn't fair. Brother Richard, who had studied theology with him, was now Archbishop of Paris. Brother John, a friend from Brother Albert's days in the novitiate,* had become a papal legate to France. Let's not even mention Brother Fred,** who had originally become a friar in the hope of expanding his culinary skills and was now Master General of the Dominicans.

In contrast, here was Brother Albert, assigned to oversee a flying monastery led by an abbot who was approximately three pistachios away from a nutcase.

_Cum his qui oderant pacem eram pacificus __cum loquebar illis inpugnabant me gratis…_

They were about halfway through the Office. Naturally, the alarm went off at this point.

"Scan complete," said the Abbey's computer. "Radical signatures located. Both Brother Tobias and Brother Juniper have been located."

Brother Eligius frowned as he followed Abbot Edwin out of the chapel. "It doesn't feel right," he said, "hunting down two of our own Brothers like this."

"Where are they?" asked the Abbot. "Be specific."

"A house on the shore of the Mediterranean, just east of Alexandria." Brother Eligius glanced at a remote receptor module in his hand, then added, "On the living room sofa."

"Good. Can we aim a missile at this range?"

"A missile?" Brother Albert exclaimed, running up beside the Abbot. "The Holy Father wants them alive."

"That's right. I forgot." The Abbot turned back to Brother Eligius. "Make that a small missile."

Brother Albert suppressed a bark. "You people try to solve everything with missiles!" he shouted.

"No we don't," Brother Christopher called from behind. "Sometimes we use bombs."

"That does it," said Brother Albert. "As a papal legate, I'm taking control of this operation. No missiles. No bombs. We're showing up, arresting them, and taking them back to San Francisco. Any questions? … Yes, Brother Sebastian?"

"Can we use machine guns?"

Brother Albert sighed. "If absolutely necessary."

* * *

><p>Sulayman did not consider himself particularly demanding when it came to neatness. In fact, his senior class in high school had voted him, in addition to Most Likely to Succeed, Most Likely to Perish in His Own Filth.<p>

Nonetheless, certain types of messiness could disturb him. Vomit, for example. Or blood. Or a slurry of half-chewed meat and noodles, mixed with fruit juice, spilling out the sides of a person's mouth while she drinks from a glass, the backwash carrying fragments of food and globules of food paste into the glass to swirl visibly amid the glass's now-discolored contents as she sets it down and shovels in more food.

"You know," said Sulayman, "I made sure that all the food was dead before I gave it to you. It's not going to escape. I promise."

Sara paused and stared down at her plate.

"Sorry," she said. "I'm new at this."

"What?"

"Uh, nothing," Sara said quickly.

"So," said Sulayman, "why exactly is the Pope trying to kill you for discovering the Garden of Eden?"

"It's very simple. He's controlled by the medical industry."

Sulayman scratched his head. "Sorry, but I'm still not quite seeing the connection here."

"It's a little-known fact," said Sara, "but the College of Cardinals is in bed with practically every doctor on earth."

"Thanks for the image," Sulayman muttered, grimacing. "No offense, but I find it a bit hard to believe that the Catholic hierarchy has some kind of secret alliance with the medical industry."

"Really? How do you think those cardinals have managed to live so long?"

Sulayman opened his mouth in protest, then paused.

"Good point," he said. "But still—"

"You don't believe me," said Sara.

Sulayman sighed. "I don't know what to believe anymore. Anyway, could you elaborate a bit? What do doctors have to do with the Garden of Eden?"

"Think about it," said Sara. "What would happen if people found the Tree of Life? No one would have to worry about disease anymore! Imagine—no more disease, no more aging, no more death. Do you realize how many doctors that would put out of work?"

Sulayman rubbed his chin. "Pretty much all of them, actually."

"Exactly. The medical industry fears the Tree more than anything else in the world. They tried to kill me, but I wouldn't let them win." Sara looked out over the ocean. "I'll tell the world about this Tree if it's the last thing I do."

Sulayman stared at Sara in silence for a long moment.

"I had no idea," he said. He took a deep breath. "Alright, I'll help in any way I can."

Sara was still looking out the window.

Following her gaze, Sulayman and Toby saw a black speck in the sky. At this distance, it could have been anything—a bird, a kite, a spot on the windowpane. Yet they knew immediately that it was an attacking airship. It had been that sort of day.

"Sulayman, I think I'll take you up on that offer."

* * *

><p>* The novitiate is the period during which someone is a novice, a new member of a religious order. During this period, they decide whether they want to permanently join or not.<p>

** Oops.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Hunched over the control panel of his parents' private airship, Sulayman struggled desperately to remember the password.

"Excuse me," Sara said, elbowing him aside.

"But I haven't put in the password yet," said Sulayman.

"Why remember passwords when you can bypass them?" Sara asked as she began typing away at the control panel.

"Er. Maybe you should talk to those people," Sulayman suggested.

"We've been over this, Sulayman," said Sara. "If I get captured, then the secret is lost forever. Do you want that?"

"I don't know. Does it mean I don't have to spend my time fleeing from heavily-armed warships?"

Sara didn't respond. A moment later, the engines hummed to life.

"Start-up complete," said the ship's computer. "All systems are at first actuality."

Sara typed a rapid series of commands into the airship's control panel, diverting some extra power to the thrusters and, in the process, disabling a fairly large number of safety systems. Suddenly the airship was flying southward at top speed, away from the coast of the Mediterranean.

"Um," Toby said, peeling himself off of the airship's rear window and peering through it, "Not to be pessimistic or anything, but it looks like we're doomed."

By now, their pursuer's main outlines were clearly visible. It wasn't a shuttlecraft. It wasn't even an ordinary airship. It was the huge, sun-blotting bulk of Saint Michael's Abbey.

"This ship isn't equipped for combat, you know," said Sulayman.

"I'm working on that," Sara replied, her fingers darting over the keyboard that glowed blue on the airship's control panel.

Sulayman peered over Sara's shoulder, then gasped.

"You're still capable of surprise?" asked Toby.

"I don't believe it," said Sulayman. "She's reconfiguring one of our thrusters to function as a rudimentary impetus cannon!"

The airship shook. Blue sparks danced and wormed their way along its hull.

"So, even supposing we get away from these people, where do you suggest we go?" asked Sulayman.

"There's only one place we _can_ go," said Sara. "We'll have to head for the Antipodes."

"The Antipodes?" Sulayman squealed. "That's suicide!"

"Goo," added Juniper.

"What's going on back there?" asked Sara.

"Juniper's conscious again," Toby replied, bending over the dazed monk, "although it looks like he's having trouble talking."

"See?" said Sara. "Things are improving already. Now hang on—"

* * *

><p>Aboard the Abbey, Abbot Edwin had fallen back on his default strategy.<p>

"What's wrong?" he shouted. "Why aren't we shooting missiles? I told you to shoot missiles!"

"I can't," said Brother Martin. "Their last impetus blast took out our primary fire chamber. The computer is diverting all available power to keep us from crashing."

"Can you override it?" asked the Abbot.

"No," lied Brother Martin.

"Damn it!" the Abbot shouted, slamming his fist down on the nearest control panel.

Brother Sebastian glanced at the panel. "Um, Father, you just hit the self-destruct button."

"What?" the Abbot snapped, lifting his fist. "Why is that even there?"

At the front of the room, Brother Theodore looked up from his control panel. "Well, I managed to abort the self-destruct process, but the refugees are gone as far as we're concerned. Our receptors can't track them at this distance. Also, we've running on our auxiliary fire chamber, and it's going to fail in approximately five minutes."

Suddenly Brother Theodore face broke into an evil grin.

"You know, Father," he said, "the Sisters are nearby. Should we send them a distress signal?"

Abbot Edwin's face began twisting into terrible shapes. Brother Sebastian was about to run for the Book of Exorcisms when the Abbot opened his mouth.

"Get out the bicycle generator," he said quietly. "We're pedaling back."

"But the Sisters," said Brother Theodore. "Couldn't we just ask them for—"

"WE'RE PEDALING BACK!"

* * *

><p>No one lived in the Antipodes. Or almost no one, at least. It had been only thirty years since Cristobol Francisco Mendoza Garrido had crossed the scorching torrid zone, venturing into the depths of southern Africa. Upon landing, he had established Antipodal Colony Alpha One. It was the first manmade structure in the Antipodes, aside from a ring of mysterious statues and a Starbucks.<p>

Entering the Antipodes wasn't particularly hard with modern technology. The air in the Antipodes wasn't toxic. The weather was hot but bearable. And, contrary to rumors, there were no heathen tribes waiting to riddle intruders with marinade-tipped arrows.

But Sara was not heading for the Colony, much less for the black jungle surrounding it. Her goal lay farther south and farther east, where a great mountain rose up from the sea. No unrighteous soul had set foot on that mountain since the Fall, nor had the waters of the Flood reached its summit.

She was heading for the one place they would never think to look for her—Paradise.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Sara was woken by a hand shaking her shoulder.

"Sara?" said Sulayman. He sounded worried.

"What?" Sara muttered, without opening her eyes.

"I'm not sure whether you took this into account when you were inputting those coordinates, but there's a wall of fire in front of us."

Sara sat up and opened her eyes. Indeed, a great wall of pale fire filled the entire viewscreen, dancing and twisting and fading into the blue-white distance on either side. It rose from the sea below and extended far above the airship, seeming to reach all the way up to heaven.

"It's okay," said Sara. "That's supposed to be there."

Sulayman blinked. "Well, shouldn't we … stop or something?"

"Relax."

The glare rose to an unbearable brightness, even through clamped eyelids, and then it vanished. Toby and Sulayman opened their eyes and gaped.

They hovered at the top of a mountain, huge as a continent at its base. At its peak, the mountain leveled out into a plateau, miles and miles wide in every direction, and all around it blazed the wall of white flame.

Still following Sara's inputs, the airship came to rest in a green meadow. The door slid open with a hiss.

"Wait a minute," Sulayman said, peering at the control panel. "Shouldn't your reconfiguration of our thruster system put us at a risk for a fire chamber explosion?"

"Warning," said the computer. "Fire chamber agitation at critical. Explosion imminent."

Sara and Sulayman fled from the doomed airship, diving behind a patch of bushes. Toby grabbed Juniper by the hand and followed. Moments later, a blinding explosion rocked the meadow, followed by a spray of debris. Sara yelped as a shard of metal embedded itself in her shoulder.

"Wait a minute," Sulayman said, lifting his head from the ground. "Shouldn't our lungs explode at this altitu—"

"Shut up!" shouted Toby.

They were about to get to their feet when the bushes rustled behind them. A man leapt out from the forest that bordered the meadow, soared over their heads, and landed in front of them. He stared at the smoldering wreckage littering the meadow. Then he turned to face the intruders, emitting a string of disgruntled syllables.

"What's he saying?" whispered Toby.

"Sounds like Hebrew," said Sulayman. "Can we get him to talk slower? I might be able to—"

"Don't worry," Sara said, getting to her feet. "I'll handle this."

"Talk about mixed messages," Toby muttered.

"Goo," added Juniper.

"But who _is_ this person?" asked Sulayman.

"The prophet Elijah,"* Sara replied. "Now be quiet."

"_We're sorry,_" she said in ancient Hebrew, standing up shakily. "_We didn't mean any harm. We had some engine problems with our, uh, chariot, and—_"**

"_You cannot be here!_" the prophet cried. "_It is forbidden. How have you found this place in your flesh before the Day of Judgment? How have you made it past the hundred and one deaths that bar the gates of Paradise?_"

"_We used GPS,_" Sara replied. "_Um, can we finish talking about this later? I have a piece of metal embedded in my shoulder, and I think I may be in the process of bleeding to death. I happen to know that there's a grove of healing plants nearby, so—_"

"_Silence!_" the prophet shrieked. "_Since our first parents sinned, the Lord God has made it a law that men should not set foot in this Garden, and only rarely has he lifted that ban._

"_I, Elijah, spoke before the King of Israel when he had forsaken the God of our fathers and slain the holy prophets. I shamed the priests of Baal and shut up the heavens because of the sins of the people, and three times I called down fire upon the wicked. I anointed kings and brought them to ruin and raised a dead child by the word of the Most High. And at last, when my work on earth was done, the Lord took me up in a whirlwind and placed me on this mountaintop to await the time when he should come to judge the world by fire._

"_Enoch, son of Jared and father of Methuselah, dwells here also. He walked with the Lord, and was not found dead, for God took him. But you, what fame have you, that the Lord should admit you to this holy place?_"

Sara bit her lip. She feared lying to the prophet.

Not because he could read her mind or anything. No creature, not even the blazing seraphim, can read the inner thoughts of another.

But prophets tend to be fairly perceptive. In fact, 99 percent of so-called prophecy is really the result of observation plus a bit of critical thinking. Nonetheless, this combination is sufficiently rare among humans that it often passes for divine inspiration—for example, when Moses advised the Israelites not to steal, murder, or commit adultery. Or when Isaiah pointed out that the Almighty was probably not in need of burnt cows. Or when Daniel noted that a clay idol was probably not capable of eating the food placed in front of it and that, by the way, the idol's priests seemed to be putting on some weight.

"_Well,_" Sara stammered, "_I've spoken with angels before._"

"_If you are a prophetess, then why do you tremble before me as chaff before the wind?_" The prophet pointed a gnarled finger at Sara."_I command you, by the Name of the living God, to—_"

"_Elijah, are you bothering visitors again?_"

Another man stepped out of the forest and stood behind Toby, Sulayman, and Juniper, facing Elijah. "_Sorry,_" he said. "_Elijah does this to everyone who shows up._"

"_You know the rules, Enoch. They are forbidden._"

"_Hasn't our Lord opened up a higher Paradise to all men?_" Enoch retorted."_Doesn't that indicate that he invites them to this earthly Paradise as well?_"

Elijah snorted. "_Then what's the point of the gigantic wall of fire?_"

"_Well, he can't make things too easy, can he? Look, let's just let the girl and her friends clean themselves up, okay? We'll have plenty of time to ask questions later._"

* * *

><p>* The Bible mentions two people who never died (at least on earth): the patriarch Enoch and the prophet Elijah. Enoch "walked with God, and was seen no more: because God took him" (Genesis 5:24). Elijah "went up by a whirlwind into heaven" (2 Kings 2:11). According to the church fathers and medieval tradition, Enoch and Elijah are waiting in the earthly paradise, and they will return at the end of time as the "two witnesses" of Revelation 11:3-12.<p>

** In case it isn't clear, I'm using italics to indicate ancient Hebrew.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Twenty minutes later, the three youths, one middle-aged monk, and two millennia-old prophets sat beside a brook, enjoying a meal of fruit. Juniper had recovered his speaking abilities and was chatting amiably with the two uncomprehending prophets.

"Um, Juniper," Toby said, tapping Juniper on his shoulder, "do you really think they're interested in what you're saying?"

"Sure they are. Look, they're staring."

"But they don't speak English!"

"Well, neither do most of the people here."

"If I remember my atmospheric science," said Sulayman, "the air pressure at this altitude should be approximately 0.7 pounds per square inch."

"See?" said Juniper.

Toby sighed. "Juniper, the fact that a sentence contains the word 'science' does not automatically make it incomprehensible."

"Huh?" said Juniper.

"Yes, Sulayman," Sara sighed. "But why are you so concerned with the air pressure outside the Garden?"

"Well, we can't just stay here for the rest of our lives!"

"Sure we can. Watch."

Sulayman grabbed Sara by her shoulders. "Damn you!" he shouted. "I wish I'd never met you!"

"Me? What did I do?" Sara asked, shortly before colliding with a tree.

Sulayman stomped away from the brook and out into the surrounding meadowland.

"_What's up with your friend?_" Enoch asked as he helped Sara to her feet.

Sara considered telling Enoch that throwing people into trees and running away was a traditional American greeting, but decided against it.

"_He's angry about the sky-chariot,_" Sara replied.

"_Ah, well, don't worry about that. If it's your destiny to go home, then God will provide transportation, just as he guided you here._"

"_How do we know that _God_ guided them here?_" asked Elijah. "_They could be possessed by demons for all we know._"

"_Shush, Elijah._" Enoch said, then turned back to Sara."_So, tell me more about how you converted the Indonesians to Christianity._"

* * *

><p>Sulayman woke to the sensation of Elijah kicking him in the head. Mistaking this for his alarm clock, he began groping the prophet's leg for the snooze button.<p>

"Get up. It's time for work," Sara said, translating the prophet's archaic Hebrew.

"Already?" Sulayman groaned. "It's still dark!"

"Beware the demon of sloth," translated Sara. "What would life be without one's share of honest labor?"

"You mean besides awesome?" said Sulayman.

Every morning, before the sunrise, Enoch and Elijah rose to tend the Garden. Today they would have help.

"I'm really sorry about yesterday," Sulayman said, as he and Sara followed Elijah to the grove where they would be working.

"It's okay," Sara mumbled, eyeing a cedar to their right.

"No, it's not. I don't know what happened to me. I don't normally do things like that."

"That's … encouraging," Sara replied, turning to stare at a date palm.

"I guess that it's sort of silly for me to get angry about being stranded in Paradise. It's just that going to miss my family. I mean, you have family, right?"

"I have a Father," Sara replied, turning to another cedar. "We have a somewhat strained relationship."

"Oh. That's too bad. Um, Sara, is there a reason why you stare at every tree as we pass by?"

"Uh, no reason. Come on; Elijah's waiting." She paused. "Um, did you see what kind of tree that was that we just passed?"

"Sycamore."

"Thanks. Just checking."

Toby and Juniper were already in the grove when they arrived.

"Actually, you really look like you're going to be sick," said Sulayman. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Sara replied quickly. "I, uh, think the goat meat is disagreeing with me."

Juniper put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Sara, the goat meat isn't saying anything."

"So what are we doing?" asked Sulayman.

"Pruning," Toby replied, handing him a pruning hook. "Enoch said they're pretty strict about it. Be sure to do a good job."

"Really?" said Sulayman. "I thought they wanted me to do a shitty job, but okay."

Sara stifled a chuckle as she leaned her pruning hook against a tree.

"Um, I have to use the bushes." She paused, then added, "It'll probably take a while, so don't be alarmed."

Sulayman made a face. "So kind of you to warn us."

Resting her hook against a tree, Sara walked quickly away from the grove, glancing more than once at the grove into which Elijah had vanished.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Sara had spent most of the previous day wandering the Garden, narrowing down her search. Now, during her "bathroom break", she had hurried into part of the Garden that remained unsearched.

Five minutes later, Sara found the Tree.

It stood in the center of a small clearing, bathed in sunlight and birdsong from the surrounding forest. Sara's angelic mind immediately recognized, in its small, green, sour-looking fruit, the first sacrament, the original manna whose leaves were for the healing of the nations.

_Why?_ Sara thought as she stared at the hanging fruit. _Why did you hide your face from us behind that veil of glory? If you had granted us the Beatific Vision, we never would have turned away. But instead you wrapped yourself in unapproachable light, which you part for human thieves and murderers, but turn to flames before us._

"It isn't fair," she murmured.

_All these things God does for man—twice, even three times—bringing back his soul from the brink of the pit, to be enlightened with the light of the living._

Sara turned to see a small turtle grazing on flowers at the edge of the clearing.

_Job, chapter 33, verses 29 and 30,_ the turtle added.

_Lord Asmodeus!_ Sara exclaimed. _Why haven't I heard from you for so long?_

_Why interfere?_ asked Asmodeus. _You've served us better than you could possibly imagine._

_Huh?_

_Don't you realize what's happening? The whole world is so caught up in hunting for you that they've forgotten about the rest of us. Soon we will rule this world, and we will make sure that no more souls elude our grasp. Men will live in darkness, walk in darkness, and die in darkness, never to glimpse the light of truth. The number of the saved will never be filled, and the Creator's plan to fill our empty seats with those vile bodies* will be forever frustrated. And down at the bottom of the pit, our Master will laugh in his chains as he watches the endless stream of souls pouring from the blighted earth._

Sara considered this briefly, then turned to more pressing concerns.

_Are you here to kill me?_

_Kill you?_ said Asmodeus. _Of course not. Just your body._

And with that, the turtle threw itself at her.

_This is not normal,_ Sara thought, as she struggled to pry the turtle from her face. _We're in Paradise. He shouldn't be able to attack me physically._

Satan's power must have grown greatly over the last few days if a demon could attack her physically beside the Tree of Life, even if he was limited to attacking her through a possessed body. Sara could only imagine what power the demons must have outside the Garden.

_You don't have to do this,_ said Sara._ I can still help you._

_You've already given us all the help we need,_ Asmodeus replied, struggling to bury the turtle's sharp beak into her neck._ Now come back to the darkness!_

Sara lunged at the Tree, smashing her turtle-covered face into its trunk. Another smash, and the turtle fell to the ground, dazed.

Sara staggered backward, gasping for air. Just as she had recovering her breath, a pigeon alighted on one of the Tree's branches. They stared at each other for a long moment.

_A pigeon?_ said Sara.

_I'm working with what's available, okay?_

_What are you going to do—poop on me?_

"_Sara, what's going on here?_" demanded a stern voice.

There was a flutter of wings, and the pigeon was gone. Sara turned to see Elijah standing on the edge of the clearing.

"_So you've found the Tree_."

"_Um,_" replied Sara.

She lunged toward the Tree of Life. Elijah pointed and shouted a word. A column of fire fell from the sky, hiding Sara from view as it struck the earth. At last the column dissipated, leaving her unscathed but surrounded by a ring of flames.

"_You've got some explaining to do,_" said the prophet.

* * *

><p>* According to St. Augustine and a number of other Christian writers, humanity was created to replace the fallen angels.<p> 


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

"Could someone please tell me what's going on?" Sulayman asked, staring at the ring of flames around Sara.

"_The fruit of the Tree of Life is for Enoch and I alone,_" said Elijah. "_If you were a prophet, as you say, then you would know this. Why then were you trying to steal it?_"

"_Uh,_" said Sara. "_Okay, so … so there are these lizard-men, and—_"

"Hey, look!" Juniper exclaimed. "It's the Abbey!"

A shadow blanketed the clearing as a huge shape blotted out the sun. Unable to understand Juniper's words, the two prophets did not think to glance upward until a few moments before the _Malleus_ landed on top of them.

Brothers Eligius, Jim, and Sebastian staggered from the _Malleus_, impetus rifles pointed at Sara. The Abbot and Brother Albert followed, stumbling out onto the grass of the clearing as the ring of fire faded.

"Did anyone else notice those flames just a moment ago?" asked Brother Eligius.

"Dark sorcery, no doubt," the Abbot said, glaring at Sara.

"That's odd," Brother Eligius mumbled, glancing around the clearing. "I could have sworn the Abbey's receptors said there were six radical signatures in this clearing, not four."

"Maybe two of them ran away," suggested Brother Sebastian. "Did you get a chance to monitor their movements as we were descending?"

"I might have had a chance if someone hadn't replaced the shuttle's descent regulator with socks when he was supposed to be doing repairs."

"The instructions were ambiguous, okay?" said Brother Christopher.

"Um, Father," said Juniper, "I think your shuttle's on top of—"

"Shut up, Juniper!" the Abbot snarled. "Get up against the tree," he said, gesturing at the Tree of Life. "All of you, besides the demon."

"Um, excuse me, but I'm not involved in—" Sulayman began.

"Silence!" Abbot Edwin shouted. "Get over there with the others!"

The Abbot turned to Sara.

"This is it, demon! Your human life ends here!"

"Wait a minute," Brother Albert hissed, grabbing the Abbot's arm. "That wasn't the plan!"

"Hey, Albert," the Abbot said, holding up a red rubber ball in his right hand. "Fetch."

The ball hurtled into the surrounding forest, followed moments later by the Dominican.

Abbot Edwin let out a sigh of relief. "Finally," he said.

"Hi, Edwin," Abbess Juliana called from the other end of the clearing, stepping from the _Judith's Blade_ with two of her Sisters.

Those in the clearing heard a sharp intake of breath from the Abbot's direction. Very slowly, he turned to face the Sisters.

"Juliana, what are you doing here?" snapped the Abbot. "We have this situation perfectly under control."

"Really?" said the Abbess. "That's odd. I thought you were the Michaelines."

As the Abbot struggled to think of a comeback, a third airship joined them in the clearing.

"Um … hi," said a lanky man in a blue Imperial uniform. "The Imperial anti-demon task force has arrived."

"And the Egyptian Air Fleet," Admiral Akbar added, stepping out of a fourth airship.

Abbot Edwin took a deep breath and turned back to Sara.

"As I was saying," he said through gritted teeth, "it ends here. We are going to wipe this abomination from the face of the earth!"

"Wait!" Toby shouted, stepping forward. "You promised you wouldn't kill her!"

An impetus blast from Abbess Juliana's gun knocked Toby back against the Tree. Sara turned to stare at Toby, who now slumped against the thick trunk, dazed.

"Toby, you told—"

"Yes," said Abbot Edwin. "Brother Tobias contacted us yesterday with the little transmitter carried by every member of the Order. In return for safe passage back to Christian lands and the promise of a lenient sentence, he gave us the coordinates of this mountain. Anyway, Brother Sebastian, please—"

The Abbot was interrupted by the voice of Brother Albert, as he returned with the ball in his mouth.

"Aw mithun wath—" Brother Albert paused and spit out the ball into his palm. "Our mission was only to find the demon, not to kill her!"

"Well, I've always believed in going above and beyond the call of duty," Abbot Edwin replied. "Brother Sebastian, take care of the demon."

"Please don't do this," Sara begged, as Brother Sebastian raised his hylomorphic disruptor. "I have a human soul now. I can repent. Please, just give me a chance!"

A hum filled the clearing as Brother Sebastian cranked his gun to the maximum setting.

"Wait!" said Sara. "Wait, please!"

The monk aimed carefully, placing the demon's body at the center of his crosshairs.

"Please, do something!" Sara called to Brother Albert. "Don't let them kill me!"

Brother Sebastian adjusted his aim, shifting his target to Sara's heart.

"Someone, help!"

Sara looked at the faces staring at her from around the clearing, from Brother Albert to the Saracens to the Imperial troops, and she saw no pity in their eyes.

"Someone, help," she sobbed, sinking to the ground.

Brother Sebastian scratched a mosquito bite on his neck, then returned both hands to the disruptor.

"You don't know what Hell is like!" Sara screamed. "Don't make me go there! Please, I'm begging you!"

Brother Sebastian paused to answer a call on his cell phone and perform a brief juggling act.

"Get on with it already!" shouted Abbot Edwin.

"Oh, sorry," the monk said, quickly re-aiming his disruptor.

Toby watched Sara from beside the Tree.

"Don't make me go there," she whimpered. "Please, don't make me go there. You don't know what it's like…"

Toby turned his head and saw a green fruit hanging from a low branch, within arm's reach.

"Hey Sara," he shouted. "Catch!"


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Sara looked up just in time to see the green fruit sailing toward her. In wild hope, she snatched it from the air and tore away a chunk of sour flesh.

"Don't just stand there, you idiot!" Abbot Edwin shouted. "Shoot the demon!"

Brother Sebastian complied. A lethal cylinder of force shot from the gun's muzzle, punching a hole through Sara's chest where she knelt.

As Sara lay on her back, her blood pouring out onto the grass, she hardly noticed the pain.

_Too late!_ she thought.

In indescribable terror, she felt the approach of the Glory that is light to the purified but to the wicked a consuming fire.

The Abbot turned to Toby.

"That does it," he said. "Brother Sebastian, get Brother Tobias into the shuttle. If he resists, shoot—"

"Uuuuuuuhhh…"

All eyes turned toward the source of the groan. Sara was stirring on the ground. As the shocked onlookers watched, she sat up, feeling the spot on her chest where a tunnel had gaped just moments before.

Abbot Edwin pointed a trembling finger at Sara. "Kill it!" he screamed. "Kill the demon!"

This time Abbess Juliana fired the shot. Sara's skull ruptured, splattering the onlookers with gore. The Emperor looked like he was going to be sick.

Abbot Edwin turned back to the _Malleus_. "Now, as I was saying, get Toby—"

"Owwwww, my head," moaned a voice behind him.

"Damn it," muttered the Abbot.

Shots rang out through the Garden as monks, nuns, Saracens, and Imperial troops opened fire on the demon. In the center of the clearing, Sara staggered first this way and then that as impetus pulses ripped through her flesh.

"Someone kill the demon already!" Abbot Edwin shouted.

"We _are_ killing her," snapped Admiral Akbar. "She keeps coming back to life."

"Well, kill her harder, then!"

The roar of weaponry was so loud that Brother Albert didn't notice his ringtone at first.

"Yes, Cardinal Fusilli?" he said, putting his phone to his ear.

"Brother Albert, you've got to get the Michaelines over to the Apostolic Palace immediately! We're getting overrun!"

"Overrun? By who?"

"Who do you think? Demons!"

"What? How bad is it?"

"Just a minute. I need to come up for air."

Gripping his cell phone, Cardinal Fusilli struggled up through the layers of demons and demoniacs writhing on the floor of the Apostolic Palace. He took a breath of fresh air, then turned back to the phone.

"It's pretty bad," he said.

"Things aren't going very well over here, either," said Brother Albert. "They've opened fire on the demon, but it seems to be refusing to die."

"That's _one_ demon, you fool! We need— No, get away! Get back, foul creature of the pit! Get—"

The line went dead. Brother Albert flipped his phone shut and turned back to the clearing.

"Everyone, stop! I've just got a call from the Holy See. Demons are overrunning the Apostolic Palace."

Abbess Juliana looked up from a cell phone from which agonized screams were now emanating. "Cardinal Capellini just told me the same thing," she said.

Scowling, Abbot Edwin turned to the Emperor and the Admiral. "Okay, this is a Catholic problem. My Order and the Sisters can get back to the Holy See. The rest of you, keep shooting!"

"Oh, for the love of Saint Winifred," Brother Albert muttered, grabbing a phial of holy water from Brother Sebastian and throwing it at Sara.

Sara fell to the ground, screaming, as the water splashed over her.

"Okay, we've got her subdued. Can we get back to San Francisco now?"

"Fine," said Abbot Edwin. "Brother Eligius, I want you to figure out how we can kill the demon. Take the fugitives too. They're coming back to the Abbey."

Beneath the Tree, Juniper threw his arms around Toby's gore-spattered shoulders. "Did you hear that, Toby?" he exclaimed. "We're going home!"

"Correction," said Admiral Akbar. "They're coming with us. They're wanted for high treason against the Caliphate."

"We don't have time to argue about this!" shouted Brother Albert. "Let the Emperor carry the prisoners until we get things sorted out at the Holy See."

With an earth-shaking pulse of impetus, the four airships lifted out of the clearing. In the center of a large, airship-shaped indentation, Enoch and Elijah sat up, rubbing their foreheads.

"_That was unusual,_" said Enoch.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

The Abbey emerged from the vacuum tunnel before a terrifying scene. Overhead, the sky was bright and cloudless, yet the Apostolic Palace stood cloaked in shadow. Shrieking black shapes swirled through the column of darkened air surrounding the Palace.

Down on the streets, a ring of onlookers had gathered at the shadow's edge. They watched in fascinated horror as thick, pulsing cords of blackness materialized in the empty air and wound themselves like vines around the Palace walls.

"Looks like they're in a bind, huh?" said Brother Sergio.

There was a pause.

"That was a joke," said Brother Sergio.

"Yes," said the Abbot, "and that was silence. Brother Albert, can you reach anyone inside the Palace?"

"I'm trying," replied the Dominican. "Oh, wait. I think Cardinal Tortellini just picked up. Hello, Your Eminence?"

"Is that you, Abbot Edwin?" asked a trembling voice.

"Yes, Your Eminence," the Abbot replied, taking the phone.

"Where are the Sisters of Divine Wrath?"

"The Sisters? Uh, they're hovering right next to us."

Cardinal Tortellini let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God. Tell them to get over here immediately."

"But," the Abbot sputtered, "what about us?"

"Yes, yes," the cardinal sighed impatiently. "You can keep some of the Sisters for protection. But we need the majority of them down here. Is that understood?"

"… Yes, Your Eminence."

Abbot slowly handed the phone back to Brother Albert and turned to the radio.

"Abbess Juliana, we Michaelines are about to take back the Apostolic Palace from the demons. You can come along if you like."

"Tell your monks to be careful in there, Edwin," the Abbess replied. "Those demons look like they're moderately competent."

"Er, Father, shouldn't we plan this out first?" asked Brother Eligius.

"There's no time, Brother Eligius! Demons have taken over the Apostolic Palace and either killed or possessed most of the Curia!"

"Yes, and you seem to be suggesting that we move in their direction. I'm not quite seeing the logic here."

"Brother Eligius, have you forgotten what I tell you and your Brothers before every single training session?"

"'Shoot first, aim later'?" came a voice from the radio.

"No, Juliana," the Abbot replied levelly.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Things had not gone quite as well as they had hoped.

"Which one is the demon?" Brother Martin called, swinging wildly at the demon-possessed cardinals and cardinal-shaped demons who surrounded him.

Abbot Edwin sighed. "The one with tentacles," he said, punching at the giant toothed worm that was in the process of devouring the lower half of his body.

The Abbot gasped in pain as the worm dug its fangs into his flesh, dragging its circular mouth farther up his body.

"No," the Abbot whispered as he beat at the pink, skinless demon-flesh. "Not like this."

"Hey!" shouted a familiar voice. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

Flanked by two of her Sisters, Abbess Juliana stepped into the room, gripping a salt shaker in either hand.

"Damn it, Juliana, would you stop getting in my way?" the Abbot shouted, pushing his head out of the worm's mouth long enough to glare at her.

"Eat blessed salt, hellspawn!" the Abbess shouted, inverting the shakers over a drooling cardinal.

A second demonic worm burst from the shadows behind the papal throne. The shakers shattered on the floor as Abbess Juliana was slammed into the wall behind her Sisters.

"Mother!" Sister Margaret shouted, running over to the Abbess.

"It's impossible!" Sister Jael exclaimed. "They're everywhere!"

"Nothing's impossible," the Abbess wheezed, lifting herself slowly from the floor.

"That's not true," said Sister Margaret. "I do nothing all the time."

Laughter rose from behind the throne. "Blessed salt?" a voice snorted. "Fool! Did you think the Abbot was too stupid to have tried that already?"

"The possibility did cross my mind," the Abbess muttered, staggering to her feet.

"Mmmmph mph!" Abbot Edwin retorted from inside his worm.

"Our power has grown beyond anything you could possibly imagine," said the voice. "Behold."

A pair of human shapes stepped out from behind the throne, dressed in the ritual garb of the Luciferians. They hauled Pope Rural II along with them, gagged and with a knife to his throat.

"My God," whispered Sister Deborah. "They have the Holy Father!"

"You won't get away with this," Brother Theodore wheezed, punching feebly at the demon-possessed hands pressed against his throat. "Our Lord promised that the gates of Hell would never prevail against the Church!"

The demon laughed again, through the lips of the Luciferan standing on the Pope's left.

"But they already have! In the days of the Apostles, the lowliest Christian could command demons in the Name of his Lord. Today the Princes of Hell hold the Apostolic Palace in their grasp. Now the Desolation of Abomination is come. Now the prophecy is fulfilled that spoke of the Son of Perdition who would seat himself in the Temple of God! And this time, you will not stop us—not with your exorcisms and your prayers, not with relics or rosaries or holy water. For this is _our_ hour, the hour of the power of darkness."

* * *

><p>Sara stood inside a cramped cell in the brig of the Empire's new battleship, the <em>Flame of Awesomeness<em>. By this point, she considered himself something of a connoisseur of prison cells. In terms of lighting and aesthetics, this one was slightly better than the Abbey's dungeon or the confinement chamber in the Papal Palace. Nonetheless, the company left a lot to be desired.

"You lied to me!" shouted Sulayman. "All that stuff about the Pope and the medical industry—it was all a lie!"

"I didn't have a choice," said Sara.

"How many people have you gotten sent to hell before becoming human?"

"Is this really necessary?"

"_How many?_"

Sara lowered her head. "Four hundred ninety-one."

"Wow, that's a lot!" exclaimed Juniper.

Suddenly the _Flame of Awesomeness_ groaned and pitched, throwing the four prisoners to the floor along with the guard stationed outside their cell.

"Constans—uh, I mean, Emperor—what's going on?" the brig guard shouted into his control station's communication panel, clinging to it as the ship slowly righted itself.

On the _Flame_'s bridge, Emperor Constans lifted himself from the floor, rubbing his forehead. Most rulers would have had a guard fired for speaking to them in such familiar terms. But Constans was still getting the hang of this being-respected thing. When the defeated Saracens had first offered to pay him tribute money, he had almost turned it down. For some reason, this had made them extremely frightened. He had eventually humored them by accepting a sixth of the original offer.

Constans turned to the pilot. "What's going on?" he asked.

"It's the demons!" the pilot shouted. "They almost grabbed the ship with one of those giant black arms! We're retreating to a safe distance."

"What about the Sisters?" said the brig guard over the comm. system. "Aren't they doing anything?"

"Captured or possessed, all of them!" said the pilot.

"Uh. Do we have a plan?" asked Constans.

"I'm afraid to say this," said the pilot, "but we might have to use our disruptor cannon on the Palace."

"What? But there are people in there…" said the Emperor.

"What choice do we have?" demanded the pilot. "We can let those things spread further!"

"That's ridiculous!" Toby called from the cell. "They're demons. They won't be hurt by a hylomorphic disruptor."

"Shut up, demon-worshipper!" the brig guard snarled.

Standing at the back of the cell, Sara took a deep breath. It was crazy idea. But then again, that hadn't stopped her so far. And this time, it might save not just her but other people as well.

"Wait!" she called. "Emperor, can you hear me? I have an idea! Please, just hear me out."


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: Okay, so I don't know whether anyone's still reading this story, but if you are, here's the next installment for you to read. (Of course, it would be great and much appreciated if you could also write a review!)

* * *

><p>Chapter 26<p>

_What are you doing, you idiot?_ Sara's demonic mind screamed at her. _Go back before they kill you!_

But her human mind controlled her body, and it had other ideas. Clutching the Device prototype in her left hand, Sara piloted an Imperial shuttlecraft toward the Papal Palace.

The Palace was oozing demons by now. At this point, it seemed unlikely that any humans would make it out alive, even if her plan succeeded. It would take a miracle. Fortunately, Sara knew Someone who could help in that department.

"Father," she whispered, "I know that you and I haven't been on speaking terms for almost eight thousand years,* but I could you maybe—"

A jarring collision interrupted her prayer. One of the black cords that enveloped the Palace had lashed out and struck the shuttle. Sara struggled with the spinning craft for a few frantic moments before it crashed through the Palace wall.

Still holding the Device, Sara staggered out of the shuttle, feeling optimistic. Things seemed to be going slightly more smoothly than usual. As the gaping wound in her forehead slowly closed up under the influence of the fruit of life, she took a quick stock of her surroundings.

Inside the demonic worm that had enveloped him, Abbot Edwin had heard the crash.

"What the hell is going on out there?" he called.

"I believe," Abbess Juliana replied, struggling with Brother Theodore's possessed body, "that that demon-girl has arrived."

"What?" the Abbot screamed, trying to punch a hole through the side of the demon-worm. "That can't be! Wasn't anyone guarding her? That abomination must not be allowed to run free!"

"Would you shut up?" snapped Sara. "I'm trying to help you!"

"Liar!" the Abbot screamed, thrashing inside his slimy prison. "Just wait till I get out of here—"

"Listen!" Sara shouted to the possessed Luciferans who stood behind the Pope. "You don't have to do this. You don't have to obey him any longer. There's a way out."

The Luciferians' lips did not move. But in her angelic mind, Sara heard Lord Asmodeus's answer.

_What stupidity had possessed you, Saraqujal? Don't you realize that we could rip your body to shreds and cast you screaming into the Abyss?_

_You're right,_ Sara replied. _What I'm doing now is incredibly stupid—which _proves_ that I have a human mind, doesn't it?_ _The Device gave me a human body, and the Creator gave that body a human soul. My demonic will isn't my only will anymore. I have a chance of salvation. You can too, if you let me help you!_

The darkness around the Luciferian swirled contemptuously. _Semjaza, rip her to shreds._

Abbess Juliana gasped in relief as Cardinal Tortellini loosened his hold on her throat and turned to Sara.

_What are you waiting for, Semjaza? Kill her!_

The cardinal fell to the floor. Between the cardinal's body and Sara, the darkness seemed to churn and coalesce. Sara shrank back as Semjaza stepped toward her in the shape of a pale, seven-foot-tall man wrapped in a black cowl.

Then Semjaza did something no one was expecting. He knelt before Sara.

_Please,_ he said, _make me human._

_Semjaza, you fool!_ Asmodeus screamed. _What are you doing?_

With shaking fingers, Sara reached out and attached the Device to Semjaza's false body. She squeezed her eyes shut and gagged as a dizzying stench assaulted her nostrils. When she opened her eyes, she saw a green-eyed woman staring up at her.

"It worked," whispered Abbess Juliana. "I don't believe it."

_Kill them, Adramelech!_ snarled Asmodeus. _Adramelech?_

One of the worms was slithering toward Sara.

_Me too,_ Adramelech said in the angelic tongue. _Please._

Another wave of stench struck Sara, almost drawing tears from her eyes, and a man with silver hair lay on the Palace floor.

Suddenly the darkness lifted from the Palace. Noon sunlight streamed through the windows as the air was filled with voices begging Sara for help. Enveloped in the only remaining patch of shadow, Asmodeus screamed in rage as demon after demon submitted to the Device.

At last Sara turned to the Luciferans whom Asmodeus still held under his power. _It's your turn, Asmodeus,_ she said. _Don't give up this chance._

Surrounded by a crowd of newly-hominized demons, Sara held out the Device. The other demons looked toward Asmodeus expectantly.

At last the archdemon spoke. _Okay, fine,_ he muttered.

* * *

><p>* The Church Father St. Jerome calculated that the world was created in 5199 B.C. This used to be the Catholic Church's quasi-official date for the creation of the world. I arbitrarily decided that this story takes place in 2743 A.D. (in an alternate universe, of course).<p> 


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Tiny raindrops misted the windows of the new Mobile Demon Rehabilitation Center, formerly Saint Michael's Abbey. Inside, Pope Rural II and Brother Albert leaned against a rail overlooking the cafeteria, where hundreds of newly-hominized demons munched in silence.

Business was slow for the Michaeline Order itself. Demonic activity seemed to have all but disappeared over the last few weeks as demons flocked to designated "hominization sites" to receive human nature. In a few days, Abbot Edwin would be starting his new job as the Rehabilitation Center's senior therapist.

"Sorry to put you through that, by the way," the Pope said, scratching Brother Albert behind the ears. "I hope you didn't find Abbot Edwin too difficult to work with."

Brother Albert growled. "Difficult?" he sputtered. "Why haven't you excommunicated that lunatic by now?"

The Pope raised an eyebrow. "You know, Brother Albert, you're more like the Abbot than you'd like to admit. Like him, you think that there are good guys and bad guys. And then you get upset when the good guys don't act the way good guys are supposed to. That's silly, of course. As our Lord pointed out, in this fallen world there's only one Good Guy."*

"I guess you're right," the theologian sighed. "But if that's really true, then why doesn't God get involved in this wretched world more often?"

Pope Rural grinned. "How do you think He's managed to stay a good guy for so long?"

* * *

><p>Four figures in orange jumpsuits walked along the San Francisco shoreline in the early summer fog, picking up trash.<p>

"The sentencing of crimes against humanity seems to be getting a bit more lenient these days, don't you think?" said Sulayman.

"You know," Toby said as he stood beside Sara, grabbing at a burger wrapper with his trash-grabber, "some people are saying that this was the Last Battle, that the demons who invaded the Papal Palace were the Beast in the Book of Revelation. You wouldn't happen to know whether that's true, would you?"

"Not for certain," Sara replied. "But I think it's unlikely. A lot of prophecies don't seem to have been fulfilled yet. I think there's a lot more to come before the End."

Toby cleared his throat nervously. "Just out of curiosity, how long is it between the defeat of the Beast and the end of the world?"

"No one knows for sure," said Sara. "Not even the angels in Heaven. Among human scholars, there are two major estimates. According to Lactantius, Hippolytus, Commodian, and some other early Church Fathers, one thousand years. According to Saint Jerome and his followers, forty-five days."

"Well," said Sulayman, "at least they're close."

"A thousand years or forty-five days," Sara murmured to herself. She turned back to Toby. "Well, I guess I should start on that repenting, huh?"

"Yup," said Toby.

"Do you think she'll make the most of her chance?" Sulayman whispered to Toby as Sara wandered off toward another pile of trash.

"We'll see," Toby replied.

"I think she will," Juniper said, smiling.

"Oh dear," said Sulayman.

Meanwhile, Sara had paused in her work. Standing on the beach, she looked out across the city of San Francisco, toward the skyline. The sun was just rising after a dark night, and she had a long day of work ahead of her.

She picked up a soda can and tossed it into her bag.

THE END

* * *

><p>* Luke 18:19: "Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone."<p> 


End file.
